Five of Swords
by Polly
Summary: The ghosts of our past mistakes have a way of coming back to haunt us when we least expect it. But are they strong enough to tear apart the bond of friendship? Sequel to 'The Road Ahead'.
1. Chapter 1

**Five of Swords**

Standard Disclaimer applies – I don't own them.

A/N – Well, here we are on the next step of the journey. This is set in the same series as _The Start of Something _and not a lot of this will make sense if you're coming to this new. Though, of course, you're more than welcome to give it a go.

Thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter of _The Road Ahead. _I know, traditionally, last chapters are usually ignored on the review-front so I'm really grateful to everyone who dropped me a line and very glad people enjoyed the story. Thank you also to _Ash_ and _Angel_ who I can't thank through a pm – I hope this story doesn't disappoint :-)

Chapter 1

Lightning streaked the dark sky in jagged, angry bolts as the rain lashed down in torrents upon the hills outside the sleeping city of Atlantis. Lightning-Thrower Zeus was in full form, hurling his thunderbolts so that they illuminated the landscape in dazzling blues and whites. It was a night to avoid at all costs, a night to huddle before the warm hearth, swapping stories with friends and family and soothing restless, frightened children to sleep as rich and poor alike, cowered in their beds.

Flocks of sheep huddled under the hill's large ash tree and as the traveller passed them, they paid him little attention, bleating softly to each other. The terrain was treacherous, the rain causing the earth to shift and slip. Digging his boots into the soil, the man found purchase with the studded leather soles and paused a moment, head bowed against the driving rain, hitting him in horizontal slants. He wrapped his woollen cloak tighter around him and pressed onwards towards the city. It looked so peaceful sitting there below, nestled in-between valleys and mountains. The traveller soaked it in, even as the rain soaked his hat, dripping down the back of his neck and running along the scar that in turn, ran the length of his cheek. It had been too long since he had last laid eyes on this city, since he had last felt its stone firm beneath his feet, since he had heard its people's voices crying out as one, since he had spilt its blood and seen the very heart of it ripped in two.

And now, it was time to see him again. It was time to come home.

* * *

"When I'm on the House of Re-Atoum, do I have to throw an _exact_ two, or can it be two or higher?"

Jason stared at the different coloured discs on his senet board, a present brought as one amongst many from a recent Egyptian envoy to Atlantis. The game had, of course, been intended for Minos and Pasiphae but Jason had been so taken with it, playing with anyone who would stop long enough to let him twist their arm, that his parents had soon, quite happily, relinquished it to him. It did not matter to Jason that he was currently playing against himself – _one_ of his sets of discs had to be the winner and there were still a few niggily rules that he had trouble remembering.

From across his private Council Chambers, Minos glanced up. The king was seated at his desk, absently sorting through legal disputes and petitions to the court. "An exact two," he informed the young man, briefly.

Jason grinned as his sticks landed in just the right combination, happily moving his black disc off the board. For some reason that game, he was favouring his black discs more than his red ones and was pleased to see that nearly all seven were now safely home. "Thank you," he belatedly called, picking up the four sticks again to throw against the table for his next move. He let out a quietly irritated exclamation as the resulting score of three swapped one of his red pieces for a black, sending his black disc all the way back to square fifteen. "Don't worry, little buddy," he muttered under his breath. "I'll get you off the board soon."

"You do realise, Jason that this does not appear to be the History you are studying for your examination next week?"

Jason's fingers froze, holding the sticks in mid-throw. Safe in the knowledge that his back was to the king, he winced. "Would you believe me, Sire, if I told you it was finished?"

"Would you be offended if I told you, no?" With a reluctant sigh, Jason put down the sticks and turned to face his stepfather. Minos regarded him passively, over steepled fingers. Over time, through unofficial arrangements, Jason often came from his lessons to these chambers to work on his exercises and this usually coincided with the time Minos had set aside to work on civic matters. It was a quiet, productive time spent with the boy – sharing occasional exchanges of conversation, offering an opinion on something that either one or the other of them was working on, or simply working in companionable silence. Or like today, listening to the continual clatter of sticks on a table-top and watching the young prince idle his time away on his latest obsession.

"Would it be alright if I just finished this game, first?" Jason asked. "It's nearly over." He looked sincerely, but hopefully to the king and Minos sighed, shaking his head. _How_ this simple game could hold this boy's attention for so long, was beyond him. Jason was not exactly known for his ability to sit and concentrate indoors. But, Minos considered, with the winter months upon them, it was good that Jason found more ways to occupy his time, out of the more biting temperatures and strong winds. Last night's storms had been a fine example of why his stepson would soon have to spend much less time wandering the Palace grounds whenever his restless nature sprung up.

"Very well," he acquiesced, with fond exasperation. "Though I give you fair warning that if your mother enters and finds you playing this game _again_, I shall deny ever having granted you permission."

The king was rewarded with a wide grin from his stepson. "Don't worry, Sire: I'll protect you."

Minos had begun to look back to his papers when his eyes widened at the boy's response and then he smiled, in spite of himself. Shaking his head, ruefully, he pointed a stern finger at the lad: "Play your game, _little prince_, before I change my mind."

"Thank you Sire," Jason called once more, chuckling softly as he went back to his discs. The king shook his head once more, mildly amazed and amused at the lad's impudence and returned his attention to his papers. At that moment, a knock at the door sounded.

"Enter," Minos called, a hint of irritation darkening his voice. This was generally not a time that he liked to be disturbed unless on urgent business and this fact was clearly understood amongst his servants. One of his personal aides entered and bowed.

"Your Majesty," he began, only too aware that this was a time when his master preferred his solitude. Although, he had to concede that the young man sitting by the window was an unusual, enduring addition to the king's quiet ritual. "Minister Seminos requests an audience with you at your earliest convenience." Minos scowled and sighed heavily, noting the way Jason had rolled his eyes when he had heard who it was who petitioned his time. The boy was _not_ the greatest supporter of his chief advisor and Minos had the distinct impression that unless Seminos made a concerted effort with his stepson, then when the time came for Jason to take the throne (and Minos found that he did not like to consider the possibility that Jason would not), Seminos would be one of the first advisors to be shown the door. Or the dungeon, though that really wasn't in Jason's nature.

"I take it this is an _urgent_ matter?" Minos pressed, leaning back in his chair.

The servant nodded. "The minister insists his query is of vital importance and requires Your Majesty's urgent attention."

From where he sat, eyes on his game, Jason snorted very quietly and though it was under his breath, Minos distinctly heard: "Just tell him he needs to put his _right_ arm in the _right_ sleeve hole…" The king smoothly rose to his feet and moved to stand by his stepson, glaring at the back of the boy's head. Jason instinctively scrunched a little lower in his chair as Minos addressed his servant.

"Very well. You may send him in." The man bowed and left to convey the news to the waiting Seminos.

Once the doors had shut and they were alone again, Minos promptly delivered a sharp tap to the back of Jason's head making him emit a quiet hiss. Jason didn't bother to claim ignorance for the rebuke and had the good grace to appear slightly abashed, even if he _still_ maintained that Seminos was a self-important fool. He swivelled to look up at Minos, the hint of contrition on his face and though Minos appeared stern, there was still a distant gleam in his eye. "Jason," Minos announced, briskly. "Give us the room, please. You may work in the parlour and assuming Seminos' matter is relatively brief, rejoin me when the meeting is done." Nodding, Jason rose and carefully gathered up his game, balancing the board between his hands so that the discs did not slide off. However, Minos shook his head.

"Leave the game, Jason and take your work." Jason whined very quietly and looked imploringly to him but this time, Minos was resolute. "You know as well as I do that your work must be finished before you leave to return to your friends and you do _not_ have many hours left before midday." He looked meaningfully at his stepson. "So unless you are intending to remain here into the afternoon you will turn your attention to that work in your bag." He watched as a mild look of alarm crossed the young man's face at the thought of staying behind to finish his work. No matter how steadily – and with some surprise – he was growing to love his family there was never a time when he was not looking forward to returning to his friends. Quickly, yet carefully, Jason did as instructed and lowered the board back down onto the table.

"Alright, I'm going," he relented. He scooped up his leather satchel and slung it over his shoulder. With one last glance to his game, he turned hesitantly to Minos: "You won't have it cleared away, will you?"

Minos rolled his eyes, already placing one hand on his back and ushering him towards the door. "Your game shall remain just as it is. Now be off with you and work hard." And with one last gentle shove, Jason left, with any luck, to work on his schooling. Minos smiled softly to himself as the door clicked shut behind the boy. As he passed the game board, he was very tempted to throw those sticks and move one of the pieces, just to see if the boy noticed. And he imagined that he _would_. No, Minos thought. He would save that battle for another time. And so with a reluctant sigh, the king re-seated himself at his desk and waited to receive his minister and his ever so urgent business.

* * *

Pasiphae marched briskly down the Palace corridor, leading from her chambers. As her blue robes swished about her ankles, servants nodded to her and then scrambled to part ways for the queen. She did not even treat them to a sideways glance, even the ones who dared bid her good day. The queen's mood was dark that day and none could fathom the reason why: none had been foolhardy enough to enquire and Minos, perhaps through careful intention and perhaps through honest circumstance, had not been near his wife to ask. He could not avoid the storm for much longer, however: the midday meal soon approached, the kitchens already bringing sumptuous dishes into the dining room. Soon, Ariadne would return from the Temple, having completed her duties in offering that morning's sacrifices and prayers, Jason would be off to his friends in the city and Minos and Pasiphae would finally meet to say 'Good Morning' around the table.

Pasiphae rounded a corner and pulled up short with an irritated sigh. Balanced on ladders, servants were busy replacing the oil in the wall lamps and trimming the wicks. Their coarse cloths were spread over the intricately tiled floors to avoid spillages and Pasiphae had no intention of either walking over a soiled ground-cloth, _nor_ of sidling her way past workmen who _should_ have done this task before they retired the night before. Or else risen early to have completed it before the family awoke. Immediately, the men paled and hurried down the ladder, muttering apologies that they knew the queen was not interested in hearing and hastily gathered up the cloth and their ladders, pressing themselves back against the wall to allow her room to pass. Pasiphae sighed once more as she watched their efforts with a glare, tapping her foot sharply on the floor. She had no time for incompetent servants that day – the men should have a day's wages docked for such ineptitude though she had neither the time nor inclination to see to it.

Finally, when the obstruction was clear, Pasiphae strode past, leaving the men sighing in relief. Pasiphae herself could not pinpoint the exact cause of her ill mood that day. She had awoken feeling relatively balanced and rested though as the morning had worn on, small almost insignificant worries had occurred one after the other, each one eating away at her patience until finally, her tolerance and good will – such as they were – had been all but obliterated. Suddenly, she heard a very familiar young voice up ahead, just around the corner:

"Alright. Thanks – I'll see you later." A moment later, a door off the corridor opened and shut. Pasiphae narrowed her eyes as she listened to Jason and whoever it was he had been speaking to. He would never dare address Minos in such a casual manner and Ariadne was still at the temple. That meant he had been speaking to either one of the guards or the servants. She stopped and felt the annoyance sweep through her. She had spoken to him time and time again about his over-familiarity with the servants and she was sick of it! The boy just did not listen and seemed unable to understand that it was inappropriate. Even the _noble_ Ariadne knew how to be fair to servants without lowering herself to their status. Why could Jason not learn from his beloved princess – she who could do no wrong - if he refused to believe his parents?

Anger prickled her blood and, though a tiny part of her reasoned that she was being unfair and that she would soon regret her anger once she had calmed down, the more dominant part of Pasiphae began to stew. The boy _never_ listened – he was getting more and more wilful every day and she allowed it! And Minos? He practically indulged her son's every whim, his every moment of defiance with merely a calm shake of the head or worse, an amused expression! No wonder Jason danced to his own tune. They had forgotten the boundaries. Well perhaps the time had come to remind the boy of a few? These rules were there for a reason and maybe some short, sharp punishment would help? Not that Minos could be counted on for help in such matters. He was too weak. But then, punishing Jason may not be as effective as punishing those servants he became too familiar with.

She could still hear Jason slowly milling down the corridor ahead of her, making his way to where she currently stood. He was whistling one of those unfamiliar tunes she had often heard him do: normally she quite enjoyed listening to her son, but today it was yet another thing to darken her mood. _Princes_ should not whistle like common labourers. If Jason wanted to be musical, she would buy him a lyre!

At that moment her son rounded the corner and stopped when he saw his mother, smiling brightly at her. Her black mood was written all over her face and in her tense frame and yet Jason still grinned at her – he was possibly the only one in the Palace who was not put off by her more dangerous moods. Reluctantly, she felt a little of her ire soften in the face of her son's bright innocence and at his willingness to risk her mood. She held back on the verbal lambasting she had been prepared to unleash on the young man for his behaviour as she also did on confining him to his chambers for the duration of the day – a repercussion that she knew for a fact, drove her active son to near distraction. But she did not smile at him either.

Still, Jason approached her. "Hi," he greeted. "I was just getting ready to leave."

Pasiphae's face did not move, not even to arch an eyebrow in her habitual manner. "I see. It is too much to ask that you might have come to say goodbye? Or are manners something else that it is too much trouble for you to remember?"

Jason hesitated. He'd heard rumours going around that morning that his mother was in a bad mood. Apparently, the rumours weren't wrong. "I was just coming to find you," he clarified, hoping to see a crack in his mother's mask: he was usually quite good at wheedling and cajoling her out of her tempers.

"Indeed." Pasiphae's stare did not reduce in its intensity and Jason sighed. Apparently, he would not be successful today. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong but all he could do was ride it out until she dismissed him. It was clear that today, he would _not_ be getting any fond farewells and warm hugs, so Jason simply gave a short bow.

"Goodbye then," he muttered. "See you in a few days." Before he could leave, however, Pasiphae's sharp voice stopped him like a barricade.

"I have spoken to Master Acrion, this morning."

Jason felt his gut tighten. That probably wasn't good news, regardless of the mood his mother was in. Sighing, he turned back around to face her, knowing their conversation was not over.

"He tells me you are _failing_ your examinations – in Politics and Law, in History, in Translation." Jason glanced down to the floor. Acrion had been rapidly losing patience with him for some time now and Jason had wondered how long it would be before the old man spoke to his mother. "Your work," Pasiphae continued, her voice like iron, "is completed either late or to a standard that a _ten-year old_ would blush to achieve."

Jason ground his teeth. "I _am_ trying," he protested but Pasiphae scoffed.

"You _began_ your studies at a higher level than you are working at now. The effort you put in to your work is nearly non-existent." Jason felt his face begin to burn – as much as he hated to admit it, his mother's words were true. He sighed once more.

"Fine," he ground out. "I'll try harder."

"See that you do. You have an examination on your return?"

Jason nodded, tersely.

"Then I shall look forward to seeing a renewed effort and success."

"Is that all, Your Highness?"

A small part of Pasiphae blanched at the formal, distant title Jason addressed her by. He had yet to call her 'Mother' as she longed to hear him say, but Jason at least usually called her by her _name_, with some measure of affection. _You cannot blame the boy_, that small part of the queen told herself – _your temper is keeping him at arm's length_.

But Pasiphae merely gave a short nod, adding as she did so. "Storms are setting in on the horizon. If the skies are heavy in three days' time, you are not to travel to your father. You may remain in the city instead."

At that, Jason bristled, even as he felt his heart sink. "I want to see him," he protested. "I don't care about the storms and I've missed too many days with dad as it is, while I was sick."

Pasiphae rolled her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together. She should have known Jason would argue when presented with common sense – he usually did but she was in no mood for it today. But more than that, it was with some reluctance that she had come to realise, over the last month or so, that Jason had begun to address Aeson by the term for a father that he had told her about, just after the Games: _Dad_. A silly name really but to Jason, it meant everything. So Aeson had managed to progress from his first name to the familiar title of a father. And _she_ was still _Pasiphae_, or worse, _Your Majesty_. Even when her mood was kind and loving, she still could not break through the last of those barriers between them, though she often felt that they were _nearly_ there.

But today, she admitted to herself, would certainly not be that day. "And your loyalty is touching," she almost sneered, "but it does not lessen your stupidity." If she noticed Jason flinch, she made no show of it. "No man, healthy or not, should travel under those conditions, especially not to a mountainous region." For the most part, Jason's strength had returned though there was a lingering reluctance to eat that sometimes worried the queen. Perhaps his constitution was not yet back to what it should be? "Now if you cannot be ruled by your common sense then I shall assign a guard to escort you during your time in the city."

She watched Jason fire up, his burning indignation warring with his understanding that an out and out fight with Pasiphae would _never_ end in his favour. For a moment, his mother watched him, looking at the way his shoulders tensed and his hands clenched by his sides. She wondered, briefly, if they were to travel down that path they had taken on a previous occasion when she and Jason had butted heads in a spectacular fashion: though she had managed to keep a tight control on her own temper, the increasing volume of his voice and the frankly crude language that he hurled at her had only ended when Minos himself had heard the commotion and promptly whisked Jason away to his chambers for some very strong words on how he addressed his mother.

However, it appeared Jason either remembered that particular occasion as well, or he finally admitted some sense because after a moment, he briefly dropped his head and nodded. "Fine," he muttered again. "I won't go if the weather's bad." He paused. "So I can go now?"

For a brief moment, Pasiphae considered softening their parting, placing a hand on his cheek, trying to make her son feel a little better about the restrictions placed on his movements or about the lecture she had given him on his studies. But the last of her anger still left her chilled and she simply gave a short nod and stepped aside. She could not, however, resist watching him as he moved past her and despite her annoyance that, even at this late stage, Pasiphae knew was not really directed at Jason, the queen's eyes softened and looked with tenderness and regret: an apology in its infant stage.

Jason felt something clench in his heart as he hurried past his mother. He hadn't missed the look she had given him as he had passed her – there may have been no words, but he understood what she silently tried to tell him: she would miss him, she was sorry, she still loved him. And even though the space between them saddened him, Jason still took some warm comfort from the gesture. As he hurried up to his room to grab his bag, Jason mulled it over: he knew it was his mother's temper and nothing more. She would be all smiles and hugs again when she saw him next and would probably apologise for her lapse in patience with words this time, rather than just a regretful look. But he still hated leaving her like this. He had become quite used to the loving relationship they shared and was amazed by how he now took that relationship for granted. But every now and then, like a bad habit that she was struggling to break, a glimmer of the old queen still had a way of crushing him.

* * *

Jason readjusted the weight of his bag on his shoulder as he darted his way through the agora, dodging the odd rolling apple that fell off one of the fruit stands. He had already stopped to pick up a skein of wine and had checked it was carefully stoppered before stowed it in his bag. There wasn't a lot of room in it this time around – his rolls of History took up a fair amount of space. Jason considered the scrolls with a rueful smile. It had been some time since he had brought his lessons home with him. But it would go some way to mending the odd broken board of a bridge with her if he could at least pass his next exam. Despite what he told himself, it really _wasn't_ beyond his ability to pass but Pasiphae had been right – he really hadn't been putting the effort in lately like he knew he should.

An engaging cry from a market-seller named Thebus suddenly drew Jason's attention to his left. The man had recently set-up shop in the agora a few weeks ago much to the delight of Hercules: he sold all concoctions of meat pies and sweet pastries and his wrestler friend had managed, on returning from the market with both pockets and cheeks bulging, to sing the man's praises, without cessation for nearly an hour. Eventually, Pythagoras had wandered off to the table to do some work on his equations and Jason had begun to sharpen the swords. But they had both been unable to avoid hearing their friend's ongoing accolade. Jason paused, watching the short, wiry man animatedly encouraging passers-by to sample his wares, wondering whether to purchase a couple of pies for Hercules and Pythagoras. For some reason, Pasiphae had now instructed the Palace kitchens to send a hamper of food to their house on the morning of Jason's first day in the city. Jason's wasn't sure why she had suddenly started doing this when he had always fared perfectly well before her gifts. But, she refused to listen to his insistence that they didn't need it and, truth be told, Jason didn't have the heart to insist _too_ earnestly. Not only did it seem to please his mother but Hercules was over the moon with the regular deliveries. Jason wasn't sure whether someone in the kitchen staff still remembered the wrestler from Medusa's time as a kitchen maid or whether Pasiphae herself had given the instruction, but there was always a couple of pies and flasks of wine in the mix.

Thebus caught his hovering eye and gave him a friendly, strategic wave. With a rueful grin, Jason waved back. Thebus was an enterprising salesman, Jason thought to himself but he might as well indulge him– an extra pie in the house would never go to waste. So, wandering over to the stall, he picked out two rather full meat pies, the gravy spilling through the seams of the top-crust and handed over a couple of coins. Once the pies were securely wrapped up for him, he carried on his way, their heat pleasantly warming his hands on that chilly afternoon.

Breaking in to a jog, partly for warmth and partly to get the pies home before they cooled, Jason soon closed the distance between the agora and the house. It wasn't long before he was trotting up the stairs of their house and reached out a hand for the front door. However, before he could push it open, the door had already swung open. Jason stopped short, his hand hovering in mid-air and blinking in surprise as Hercules suddenly stepped through the door, pulling it part-way closed behind him. There wasn't actually much room for them both, perched there on the top step but Jason took a small step back nevertheless and Hercules pressed himself a little further against the door. Grinning, Jason thrust the two pies at his friend.

"Delivery," he announced, cheerfully. "I know the basket from the Palace has probably already come but I was passing Thebus in the market and thought that you and Pythagoras would probably enjoy these."

Hercules' hands accepted the bundle that was being thrust at him, almost automatically, and Jason grinned at his friend's momentary confusion. The man's mouth opened uncertainly for a moment, his heavy brow furrowing. Finally, after silently stammering for a few seconds, Hercules seemed to find his voice.

"Jason?" he asked. Then he seemed to notice the pies in his hands and Jason's earlier greeting filtered through. "Uh, thanks." He nodded to the pies but far from looking pleased or excited as Jason had rather been hoping he would, Hercules simply looked…awkward. And he was still standing on the doorstep, blocking Jason's entrance to the house.

"You're welcome," Jason replied, trying hard not to voice his confusion. "Were you going out?" He eyed the man's attire appraisingly. He wasn't wearing his cloak, or his jerkin and it was decidedly nippy out there. As if following Jason's train of thought, Hercules shook his head.

"No, I uh, I saw you coming down the street." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Jason raised a puzzled eyebrow.

"And you thought you would open the door for me? That's very nice of you but I haven't been in the Palace _that_ long – I _can_ still open my own doors." He had aimed for levity, hoping to see his friend smile back and make a disparaging joke about Palace-life, as he usually did. But instead, Hercules' eyes were almost distant. There must have been a sound from inside the house, although Jason couldn't hear it, because Hercules suddenly half turned back to the crack in the door. His movements were sharp, jumpy.

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Hercules? Is everything alright? You seem…strange." It was also getting rather cold standing on the doorstep and Jason would rather like to get inside where he was sure a nice warm fire was crackling. His friend's peculiar behaviour had him wondering though: was there something wrong with the house? A thought struck him: was there something wrong with _Pythagoras_ that Hercules didn't want him worrying about. "Is Pythagoras okay?" he asked, worry making his voice sharp. But Hercules immediately nodded and, although still distracted, his manner was sincere and there was an attempt there to calm his wild thoughts.

"He's fine," Hercules assured his friend. "Everything's fine."

Jason breathed a sigh of relief. "So can we go inside then? It's freezing out here." He made to step forward, expecting Hercules to either step back, opening the door as he did so, or else to step aside, allowing Jason to walk past him. But the dark-haired lad was forced to abruptly abort the movement when Hercules did _not_ move and Jason almost stepped on his toes instead. Frowning, Jason smiled uncertainly. "So what's going on?"

In front of him, Hercules took a deep breath. "We, uh…we have a visitor," he explained. His voice was guarded and hesitant. Jason raised an eyebrow. Hercules and Pythagoras had several friends though-out Atlantis but they rarely came to call. Trying to imagine who it was, Jason asked:

"Oh right. Who?" One of Hercules' drinking buddies perhaps. But that wouldn't explain why Hercules was being so mysterious. Unless Hercules owed this man money and he had come to collect? A sudden wave of angry protectiveness washed over Jason and he felt his hackles rising. If there was a bully of a man inside their home right now, in the middle of threatening his friend, Jason knew he would do his utmost to tear him to pieces. _No-one_ threatened his friends…even if the likes of Hercules _did_ sometimes deserve it. But, perhaps seeing the darkening of Jason's expression and the dangerous suspicion, Hercules waved away his concern.

"You don't know him. He's…" His voice faltered a moment, his expression almost torn. "He's my brother, Iphicles. He arrived here late last night and I…" Hercules glanced unhappily back towards the house. "I felt I had to give him a place to stay," he finished, awkwardly. On hearing this, Jason grinned, clapping his friend on the arm.

"I didn't know you had a brother!" he exclaimed. Hercules with a brother? Jason shook his head at the thought. Would the man be anything like his burly friend? Jason tried to picture him in his mind. Perhaps he had a few stories he could tell him about when Hercules was younger? Jason smiled at the thought: Hercules had told him and Pythagoras a few but somehow, Jason never quite knew what to believe. He looked squarely at Hercules. "That's great. I can't wait to meet him." Again, thinking the preparation that had kept him on the threshold for so long was now complete, Jason made a show of moving forward again. He was surprised when, once more, Hercules stayed put, shooting him an apologetic look.

"He'd been travelling a long way," Hercules explained, contrition written over his face, "and he was rather cold and wet…" He trailed off a moment but in the space that followed, Jason supplied:

"So you gave him my bed?" He watched Hercules nod but waved away his friend's concern. "That's fine – I figured you would have. Don't worry. I don't mind putting some straw and sacking on the floor and sleeping there for a couple of nights." Curiously, Jason tried to peer around Hercules to the crack in the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of this mysterious Iphicles. But his somewhat bulky companion was rather hard to circumvent, Jason realised with a frown.

"I know you wouldn't, but I couldn't ask you to do that." Something in Jason's stomach began to twist. He looked at Hercules with the first slivers of alarm as the man continued. "Not like you're used to sleeping on the floor any more."

Jason almost recoiled from those words, as if he had been stung. Hercules frequently teased him about such matters but somehow, this felt more _weighted_. Had he _really_ changed that much? Jason tried to think – he cast his mind back over the last few months, evaluating his behaviour. Had he been acting differently around his friends? Putting on airs? Pretending he was in any way too good for them? The mere thought made him cringe or inexplicably want to weep. God, he if had, he'd never intended to! What must his friends think of him? But then…The more Jason thought about it, the more he felt his indignation and hurt grow: he _hadn't_ changed – he hadn't! Whenever he came back, he was always _so_ grateful to be back home amongst his friends again and it always felt so natural, slipping back into his old habits, becoming the young man they all knew once more.

But Hercules still barred his entrance and now Jason began to feel a different type of chill seep inside him. "The place is rather full," Hercules explained, not quite able to meet Jason's eyes for more than a half-second flicker at a time. "I'm sure you understand. But, you know: I'm sure the Palace will have you back – not like they're going to run out of room." The older man attempted to laugh but he couldn't quite follow through with it so that it ended up sounding like an abrupt cough. Jason simply stared at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes, trying hard to wrap his head around the events. But before he had a chance to utter a word, Hercules quickly stepped back inside the house, fumbling behind his back to open the door as he did so, not even able to meet Jason's gaze. For a brief moment, warm, golden light flooded out of the opened door, as Hercules sidled inside and Jason caught a quick glimpse of the familiar wooden table and chairs, already set up for the midday meal. An unfamiliar cloak lay draped across one of the chairs.

And then the door shut, closing out his home and the warmth and the light and leaving Jason standing, head reeling, on the step.

* * *

That's it for now. If you've decided to give this story a go and actually made it this far, then thank you. If you feel like letting me know what you think, I'd love to hear from you.


	2. Chapter 2

Five of Swords

Standard disclaimer applies.

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who has joined me for this story and for your fabulous feedback for chapter one – it's been _very_ encouraging for writing the next chapter! Thank you also to those I can't respond to privately: _Agasthi_, _Ash_; _gotanygrapes_ (yes, Hercules _is_ being a bit shifty but, as you say, time will tell ;-)) and _Angel_ (I can't see Pasiphae being pleased her son was turfed out of his home either, to be honest!).

I hope people enjoy chapter 2 – it's a little long, but hopefully you'll forgive that.

Chapter 2

Dumbly, he stumbled backwards a step, grabbing on to the railing and descending the stairs back onto the street. His chest hurt and his eyes stung with tears but Jason pressed his lips tightly together and refused to let them fall. It shouldn't be surprising, he told himself firmly: it's not your house – never was. If Hercules doesn't have room for you, he doesn't have to _make_ room for you. You're lucky he lets you stay there at all. But even as he told himself this, it made his heart ache all the more. Numbly, Jason glanced back towards the direction of the Palace. However the thought of circumventing his mother's foul mood was more than he had the stomach for at the moment and Minos had a kingdom to run. He couldn't be wasting his time listening to a stepson bleat on about his own pathetic problems. Even the thought of Ariadne, surprisingly, could not rally his spirits.

Instinctively, Jason turned towards the opposite direction to where the narrow path would lead him to the Northern Gate and back to where his father lived. For the first time that day, Jason felt himself smile again. The weather may well be bad in three days' time, but right now, though a little chilly, the sky was a bright, clear blue. Aeson wasn't expecting him for another four days but as Jason and his father usually savoured every hour they had of their day, he was almost grinning with the thought of what they could do with an extra three days! Jason made up his mind: he would surprise his father and set off for the mines of Pangeon now. It might mean travelling through the night but he had his traveling cloak and anything was better than returning to the Palace, having been dismissed from his home. If Pasiphae ever found out he was turned away from Hercules' house, Jason was grimly certain that she would never let it go. So, with purposeful strides, Jason set off for the Northern Road.

* * *

As the door clicked shut behind Hercules, he stood with his back to it for several long moments, feeling his heart in his chest and his stomach churning. He sent up a silent prayer to the Gods before finally moving, almost robotically, towards the table. The big man leant forwards, intending to rest the palms of his hands on the surface of it and only just remembered in time that he still held the two pies. With measured precision, he placed the two small bundles on the tables where they quietly steamed. The radiating heat suddenly reminded Hercules of how cold it was outside, compared to in and he felt himself shudder.

"Was that Jason?"

The bright voice from behind him made Hercules spin round to the sound. Pythagoras approached with a pot of stew balanced carefully between his hands, wrapped in a thick cloth. He deposited it on the table, eyeing the newest addition of the two pies with quiet interest. Hercules however, appeared to be on the back foot.

"Huh?" he questioned. Inside, his heart was still pounding and his gut twisting horribly. The look of confusion and hurt on Jason's face was one that he was sure, would keep him awake that night.

"Jason," Pythagoras repeated. "I heard the door and I thought it was him." The young mathematician glanced out through the balcony at the street below. "He's usually here by now." Looking over to the cloak draped across the chair, Pythagoras frowned at the mess to his freshly laid table and gathered it over his arm, moving to hang it on a hook on the wall. The task done, he turned back expectantly to Hercules. The man still stared at him, his expression decidedly uncomfortable. Wariness itched at Pythagoras' agile and frankly suspicious mind.

"Hercules?" he questioned once more, a harder note to his voice this time. "You haven't answered my question: was that Jason?" A thought suddenly struck him. "Was he the one who brought those pies there? He knows how much you love Thebus' wares." The wrestler glanced down at his feet and took a deep breath.

"Yes," he confirmed.

Pythagoras smiled, relaxed. "Oh good. Has he popped back to the agora for something? Only I'm almost ready to start serving." He looked about for Jason's bag that was usually dumped right by the front door or else, occasionally, deposited on his bed. However, he couldn't see it in either place. Perhaps Jason took it with him for some reason?

"Where's Iphicles?" Hercules question was sharp, eyes darting wildly about the room as if the man in question had been lurking around the corner the whole time. Pythagoras' blue eyes widened in surprise, both at the abrupt change in topic and at his friend's slightly wild demeanour.

"He went out while you were collecting the wood for the fire. He has taken a walk before the meal. He said he would not be long." He thought a moment. "I suppose he was warm enough without his cloak and besides, it's still soaked through." With a sigh, Pythagoras belatedly realised that he should have set it hanging over the fire as soon as he had woken up. The wool was thick and would take an age to dry in these tepid temperatures. But back to his original concern: he was looking forward to seeing their friend once more. The arrival late last night of the bedraggled, towering stranger had at first alarmed him. Even when the strange man had introduced himself and Hercules had, somewhat hesitantly, welcomed him inside, something still felt amiss. Though, he supposed, he himself was no stranger to somewhat strained relationships with siblings. However, Pythagoras was very much looking forward to hearing Jason's opinion on their mysterious new guest. Jason had an eye for things like that and Pythagoras could use his co-conspirator.

"Will Jason be gone long in the market? I do hope he has not gone out to get wine: there were three skeins of it in the delivery from the Palace this week. Though I suppose with an extra mouth to feed and water, it will not go to waste." The young genius refrained from voicing his thought that if Hercules' brother was in any way like the man himself, then three extra skeins of wine were _not_ going to be enough to satiate their appetites.

In-front of him, Hercules still stood, silent. The large man shifted restlessly on the spot before clearing his throat. "Uh, Jason wasn't stopping. He's gone back to the Palace for a bit." The words fell heavily into the room. Pythagoras shook his head as if to clear it.

"I'm sorry. I don't follow. Jason came and _went_?" Surely he had to have heard that wrongly. Jason never missed a day – not while he was well enough to travel. "Was he ill?"

Hercules shook his head, sensing the young genius begin to darken, dangerously. "He's not ill," he assured his friend, the explanation halting on his lips. It was tempting, _very tempting_, to claim that leaving had been Jason's choice but ultimately, Hercules knew, he couldn't do that: not to his absent friend's reputation nor to his other friend's feelings. "I asked him to give us a couple of days," he mumbled, trying for all the world to sound as though it had been a perfectly rational request. "You know," he added, rather desperately, "the place is crowded enough with _three_ people." He gave a short laugh as Pythagoras' blue eyes turned to ice. "He'll be much more comfortable at the Palace and we'll see him again in a few days. By that time, Iphicles will have moved on to wherever it is that he's going and we'll all be back to normal."

If Hercules had hoped that his rationale of logistics, hosting skills and general comfort would go some way to abating the storm of his young companion's reaction, he was very much mistaken. Pythagoras had listened to the man's faltering explanation silently: first with a kind of dumb numbness but then very quickly with a burgeoning fire of outrage. By the time Hercules had finished speaking, Pythagoras was as red-faced as Hercules had ever seen him when he wasn't suffering from heat-stroke. His thin, diminutive frame had somehow morphed into a colossal statue. But more than that, it was the eyes that stood out the most: they were as cold as Hercules would have thought possible on a face that burned so brightly with indignation.

"You _sent Jason away_?" Pythagoras demanded. "Our friend? You actually said there was no room for him?"

"Well," Hercules tried to intercede, gesturing around the room, "there really…"

"In his _own home_?" The blonde-haired man rounded squarely on his older friend, thin arms trembling beneath his oversized tunic sleeves. "Or is this _your home_ again now? You choose who comes and goes? Should I be prepared to pack my bags at a moment's notice? Give you and your brother some room?"

A look of hurt crossed Hercules' face and he opened his mouth to protest that he would _never_ ask Pythagoras to leave – that, technically, he hadn't asked _Jason_ to leave, either. Not permanently. Just for a little while. But Pythagoras swept on before he had a chance to put voice to his defences.

"I cannot understand you! I thought we were a family. There was even a time once when I wondered if you were becoming quite…_possessive_! That you would do this…"

Shaking his head sadly, Pythagoras went to the door, opened it and looked outside, scanning up and down the street. A sea of heads bobbed up and down the narrow alleyway but none of them looked like Jason. His dark-haired friend was certainly swift-footed and if he had been upset at being turned away from his home – as Pythagoras strongly suspected he would have been – then Jason was likely to have moved even faster.

Rounding back on the friend who he could almost strangle at this point, Pythagoras glared at him. "Bring him back, this instant!" he demanded, hotly. "You tell him what an ignorant, un-thinking fool you have been and that he is, _as always_, more than welcome amongst his _family_, in his _home_. You say whatever it takes – but you bring him back."

The young man was breathing heavily now and glowering at his older friend. Hercules tried not to swallow, reflexively, as Pythagoras' words hit him squarely in the chest. By the Gods, he already felt wretched enough! Couldn't his genius friend understand that?

"He'll be at the Palace by now," he protested. "I'll never get past the guards." He watched Pythagoras continue to seethe but noticed, with mixed feelings, that logic was beginning to war with his young friend's anger: rationality could never be denied access to Pythagoras for long. The anger was slowly giving way to hurt, inch by inch though Hercules' heart ached to see it there, shining in those bright eyes.

"Besides, he gets an extra few days with his princess, eh?" He winked suggestively at his sombre friend.

Pythagoras did _not_ smile. Hercules sighed, wearily. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I _really_ am. I made a mistake. When Jason comes back in a few days, I'll apologise." The genius' gaze was still hard making it plain that Hercules was by no means forgiven yet. "I'll make it up to him," he insisted earnestly. He had rarely seen Pythagoras so angry and he couldn't handle it that day – not on top of everything else. "You'll see. There'll be no harm done. I promise you. Let's just get Iphicles on his way and then we'll put the time back in to us three again – as we used to be."

Eventually, Hercules was rewarded with the tiniest of cracks in Pythagoras' stony mask though when the young man spoke, his voice was still hard and hurt. "This will mean, of course, that Jason will miss seeing your brother which is a great shame. If your family is here, we should _all _be included in meeting him. For all your fussing, Iphicles seems like a very pleasant and polite gentleman." He cast a dry, acidic look at the burly wrestler. "Perhaps you could learn from him while he is here?"

And with that, Pythagoras snatched up the cloth from the table and turned to walk back to the kitchen, muttering as he did so that the vegetables needed checking.

Hercules breathed a sigh of relief as he watched him go, his heart as heavy as his conscience. But, all things considered, it was for the best.

* * *

By the time Jason arrived at the Mountains of Galena, night had firmly drawn in. Not for the first time, Jason drew his cloak more tightly about him and shivered. His thicker, warmer clothing was still at the Palace. Pasiphae frowned more and more often as Jason returned to the city in the same thin garments that he had discovered on his arrival to Atlantis, albeit with the addition of the cloak that he had purchased in the market. He made it a point to leave his Palace life behind at the Palace but there were moments when the young man wondered if it would matter _so_ much if he just wore the longer trousers or the thicker shoes? He wasn't even sure who it mattered _to_ anymore.

The path was, indeed, trickier at night and truth be told, there had been one or two moments when Jason had considered going back, braving his mother's temper and the humiliation of being rejected from his house and returning to the Palace instead. But when he thought of his father's welcoming smile and his comforting words of wisdom, Jason had pressed on again.

The more Jason thought about Hercules' odd behaviour as he trudged on up the rocky scree, pulling himself up from one jagged platform to the next, the more he fretted and worked himself into a state, worthy of Pythagoras himself. What had Hercules meant by his comment? Did he see something that Jason didn't? Or was he just angry with him? Jason tried to think of all the things he might have done to upset his friend: he and Pythagoras _had_ teased him about his body odour and drinking habits the other night. But he never seemed to take their banter seriously. Could his friend still be angry with him from his over-exertion at the recent Games? It was such a long time ago that it felt unlikely and in any event, the mammoth lecture he had received from the wrestler on his recklessness had been _more_ than enough to express every ounce of anger he could possibly have possessed and _then some_. Jason couldn't imagine there could be any residual annoyance that would have gone unspoken. So maybe it was something else? Jason's stomach lurched and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Maybe Hercules was trying to break away from him? Slowly? He'd never fought with his friends before – not really and Jason paled at the idea that fissures were starting to appear on the surface of their relationship. What would he do in Atlantis without his friends?

Blinking back the sharp sting of tears, Jason shook his head firmly. He was being melodramatic. That's what he could talk to Aeson about – the man would always give him his honest opinion and he usually knew just what to say to put Jason at ease. Hopefully, he could tell him how stupid he was being. But what if he wasn't? Glancing up at the sky, Jason estimated it to be close to eleven, twelve o'clock. He grimaced: arriving now would be a disturbance but the people usually stayed up late around the campfire, swapping stories, singing songs. It shouldn't be _too_ much of an imposition and he had the wine in his bag as a means of offering.

He had reached the final ascent that would lead him to the crack between the mountains. As luck would have it, the moon was full that night and the sky clear. Although it made it colder, it also illuminated his path making the climb a little less treacherous. Normally, he would have taken a torch from Hercules' house before he made this journey but in this instance, Nature would have to guide his way. Carefully he made the climb, securing his footing before he continued on up each step until finally he stood at the top, breathing a light sigh of relief. The path between the mountains was familiar to him now, even in the dark and Jason no longer felt the pressing walls of rock trying to close in on either side of him as he travelled through it.

Pressing his body through the crevice, Jason grinned as the sounds of laughter and conversation grew steadily louder, the closer he drew to the end. He wondered if Aeson was amongst the people he could hear in the clearing. Jason imagined his father would be: though Aeson may not entertain with as many stories as his companions, he was always there, leaning against the log bench by the fire, listening with a soft, knowing smile on his face. It was in that way, that Jason felt he and his father were very much alike: they enjoyed the company of others, but were content to let those others shine. The warm glow of the camp fire lit the last of the path for him and as he emerged into view, his foot kicked several small stones and sent them scattering over the edge of the drop, with a quiet clatter. The voices around the fire below stopped, and it suddenly occurred to Jason, that his unexpected appearance might alarm them.

"Hi," he called out, a little embarrassed. "Sorry. It's only me."

Down below, Jason saw about a dozen or so of the lepers, relaxing around the late night fire. Some had remained seated while others had stood on his approach and looked up at him with cautious eyes. Jason thought he saw one or two of them smile but it was his father that he looked for. Carefully, Jason began to descend the path that led down to the clearing, hoping to see the man as he did so: so many eyes watching him curiously, was making Jason feel uncomfortable. Thankfully, a tall figure in his familiar long robes emerged from within the circle of men and women and made his way towards him.

"Jason?" Aeson's voice was sharp and concerned. "Why are you here? Is everything alright?" Relieved to see his father, Jason nodded, his grin widening on his face. Aeson strode quickly and met Jason while he still moved down the path, forcing him to pause where he was. The rest of the group below watched the exchange with unbridled curiosity.

"Everything's fine," Jason confirmed – his worries about his friendships were certainly not the life-threatening issues that were clearly worrying his father and besides, he would wait until they had some privacy before he broached that subject. "I just had some free time so I thought I'd come here a bit early."

Strangely, Aeson did not smile and embrace him as Jason had been expecting. Now that the immediate threat of danger had been dismissed, his father stood a little taller and took a slow step back from his son, regarding him in a long, cool stare. Jason felt his smile slip a little. "I see," Aeson remarked, quietly. For a second, he appeared to be thinking something through. "It's funny; I wait here for you to show up from week to week and each time, I see nothing of you. But now that you have some _free time_, here you are."

Jason blinked, taken aback by the chill in his father's voice. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, aware the others were still watching from a short distance away. "I've wanted to come but I've been ill and when the storms are bad, Pasiph…" He broke off suddenly at the meaningful warning look that Aeson suddenly shot him and quickly amended his speech: "_They_ don't like it when I travel in bad weather."

Aeson regarded him slowly. "So now that all is fair and easy, you give me what you can afford of your time?" Jason opened his mouth to protest but Aeson swept on: "I realise, Jason, that this is not a _conventional_ home and that you are probably used to having your will satisfied day _or_ night." He ignored the way his son's face morphed from hopefulness, into confusion and hurt. "But this is still _our_ home," he said, indicating the other lepers with a nod of his head, "and it is customary in polite circles, not to turn up, unannounced, in the middle of the night."

Jason's chest ached and he felt as though he had been winded – punched in the stomach by his father's words and by the quiet murmur of accordance that seemed to run around the occupants of the campfire circle. "I didn't think," Jason stammered, wide-eyed. "I just thought that you…" Suddenly, he couldn't voice the words – they sounded so painfully naive. _Would be glad to see me? _Apparently, this was another of his monumental misjudgements. Still inwardly reeling, Jason glanced about at the sea of eyes staring up at him and began to feel his heart beat faster in his chest. A couple were as confused at the turn of events as he was but the majority appeared to reflect the detachment of their leader. Everything felt _strange_ and out of place: familiar and yet stripped of all the warmth and invitation that Jason was so used to feeling here. It was like seeing a funfair after hours when the rides had all shut down and the colourful, happy park attendants were out of their costumes and just sat and glared at you for disturbing their private time. The illusion was gone. He was seeing the colony after hours and apparently he was disturbing _their_ private time.

Hesitantly, Jason glanced back the way he had come, watching where the light of the fire reached no further and the gloom of the crevice opened out. Perhaps he should go back? Come back in the day, or when it was his allotted time? He wasn't prepared for camping but the weather was fine and he could make do for one night. But apparently sensing where his son's thoughts were heading, Aeson shook his head, saying quietly:

"It isn't safe to travel back now. And anyway, you're here now and I shall not deny the laws of hospitality." Jason almost stepped backwards. _The laws of hospitality_? He wasn't sure what that meant exactly but it didn't sit well with him. However, Aeson stepped to one side, indicating with his hand that Jason should continue down the path and into the colony.

Not seeing a better option, Jason complied, his face burning and feeling the judgemental eyes of those who quietly dispersed at the bottom on his arrival. Aeson followed him down and when he was next to him once more, said:

"As you can see, we've already eaten but if you're hungry…"

"No!" Jason replied, quickly with a vigorous shake of his head. "No, it's fine. Thanks, I've eaten. Sorry. I'll just go to bed." He paused, glancing back uncertainly. "Unless there's anything you need me to do before I turn in?"

But Aeson shook his head. "Your bed's not made up but you remember where the blankets are?" Jason nodded. "Right then – I shall see you in the morning."

It was clear Aeson intended to remain awake for some time, conversing with his companions but Jason could not wait to be away from their prying eyes and all but darted into his father's modest dwelling. Dim, smoky lamps were burning when he entered and Jason immediately crossed the floor to where his small bed stood and pulled the privacy screen across. He didn't want to see Aeson again until the morning when, with any luck, the man would have calmed down and they could begin the new day afresh, without these unexpected feelings of distance. The trunk in one corner of the room kept the unused bedding and Jason quickly went to open it, retrieving the pillows and blankets that he would need. Throwing them down onto the bed in vaguely the correct positions Jason collapsed onto it, kicking off his shoes and burrowing under the covers. Arriving unannounced in the middle of the night _was_ rude: why hadn't he considered that before he set off? With a heavy sigh, Jason rolled over to sleep. He would just have to make amends with his father in the morning.

* * *

"Is Ariadne not returned yet? I have been searching for her all morning." Minos stopped and looked about once more, a frown creasing his forehead. Pasiphae kept her expression carefully neutral though she could not help but wonder, watching Minos cast his gaze about the parlour, if he thought his daughter was likely to be hiding behind the curtains as she used to do when a playful child.

"No, my Lord. We _are_ in the month of Poseideon and Ariadne has much to help prepare at the Temple."

Minos sighed. His daughter was hard-working, almost to a fault and the Winter Solstice month, dedicated primarily to the worship of the Great Sea-God Poseidon, would keep her busier than ever. With his daughter spending more and more of her time in the Temple and Jason away for half the week, Minos reluctantly realised that he hardly _saw_ the children these days. Not that the demands on his time as king afforded him the luxury of time with his family. But, he thanked the gods that he always had Pasiphae by his side. Even in her moments of temper, she was still a welcome companion. And, as it happened, her most recent bout of ill-temper had ended rather swiftly. Once her son had left for the city, she had become quite melancholy. Though she would not admit as much to her husband, Minos rather suspected she had quarrelled with the young man before he left and her fiery temper probably gave her cause to regret her words. He had noticed that she had been in Jason's room quite regularly since the young man left, dismissing the servants and arranging it herself until she was satisfied that Jason would be pleased with it. It was, Minos realised, her way of reconnecting with the boy, of showing him that she _did_ love him. _No doubt, she will be spoiling the boy rotten when he returns home_, he thought to himself with a silent chuckle.

"Ah," he sighed. "Poseideon – a fine celebration. We must be sure the days of feasting surpass even last year's." Pasiphae nodded her silent agreement – bigger and better was always a good way to show-off the city's prosperity. "And there must be plenty of wine and food for the citizens. We must see to the supplies straight away. Perhaps Jason knows some reliable, good-quality merchants in the city who might help alleviate some of the burdens from our own kitchens?"

Again, his wife nodded. "Undoubtedly." And if not Jason, she added silently, then that friend of his, who regularly sampled the delights of every cook in the market.

Minos' expression momentarily darkened. "Though I suppose we must endure the lascivious merriment and chaos of the Haloea at the end of the month."

Pasiphae laughed, batting him lightly on the arm. Though it was not a festival she, as Queen, had ever joined in with, it always amused her (for as much as Pasiphae could _be_ amused) how much her husband disapproved of it. Perhaps it was the temporary freedom the day granted the women of Atlantis, briefly removed from the constraints and burdens of their sex? "Minos, it is only for one day. The people enjoy the dancing and processions." She did not mention the various _other_ acts performed in rituals to the Love-Goddess Aphrodite. Minos quietly harrumphed.

"And they no-doubt also enjoy the damage inflicted on the statues and buildings due to their drunken revelries. Or those bonfires they light about the city in dangerously inappropriate places. Or the skirmishes our guards have to break up. Our workmen spend _days_ putting this city back together after the taverns spill out on the streets."

But his wife merely sighed. "Come my Lord, you are exaggerating. No-one has died yet from the Haloea."

"That's as may be," Minos agreed, still frowning, "but I do not want Jason embroiled in such activities if this falls within his three days in the city. It would certainly not be appropriate." Beside him, Pasiphae sighed, already seeing the battle on the horizon. But if Minos wanted to fight this particular battle then it was down to him. She would play no part in it. Let Minos lock horns with the boy for once.

Searching for a way to change the subject, Pasiphae suddenly thought: "It has been five years, has it not?"

Minos turned to her and smiled. "Indeed it has. I have sent word to the artists to be here within the week." For a moment, the king held her hand and gently squeezed it. "How different things are now," he wondered softly and for once, his wife could not help but honestly agree with him. "How much more joyous. We have much to be thankful for this year." He released her hand and took a small step backwards, looking carefully at his wife. "I feel the need to visit the Northern Tower. Would you care to accompany me?"

And knowing his gentle, innocent purpose, the queen accepted, taking his arm as they walked together, content to let the regrets of the Past fire their arrows at them one last time as their hope for the Future finally had its rightful turn to shine.

* * *

Morning was dawning on the third day of Jason's time at the colony and with it went the last hopes he still harboured that his father's strange mood would have dissipated over time and good will. For the most part, the residents themselves, now that their initial confusion had past, were happy enough to see him but no matter how hard Jason tried, Aeson remained strangely distant as though Jason had somehow deeply offended him. Try as he might, he could not work out his father's mood which seemed to ebb and flow like the tide: though conversation never flowed between them, one moment he would at least enquire as to whether Jason was warm enough or comfortable enough and the next, treat one of his acts of kindness with disdainful mockery. _Pasiphae's_ mood swings were easier to read than Aeson's, Jason thought, miserably.

Jason had just returned from collecting wood for a resident's fire, when Aeson had curtly informed him that it had been somebody _else's_ job that he was interfering with and so he had then decided to lay low for a while. Put some distance between the two of them before he lost his temper and said something he would later regret. He briefly tried to remember if there was a male version of the menopause because his father certainly seemed to be going through _something_.

Jason thought about Myrtle again. On waking the first morning and discovering his father's mood had not improved, Jason's first thought was to seek her out, hoping to have _some_ form of welcome that visit. But, he had been informed, old Myrtle was ill. Nothing too serious but she slept most of the day in order to regain her strength. Exhaustion, Aeson had said, staring long and hard at Jason until the boy felt uncertainty and guilt niggle at his mind. Jason had slipped in to her hut around lunchtime, hoping to see how she was, only to find that what he had been told was true. The woman slept deeply, her weaving discarded on a small table by her bed. Jason couldn't bring himself to disturb her rest. So, placing a small sprig of bright yellow and blue flowers by her bedside to brighten up the room, Jason had slipped out again and not returned.

And so, having already checked that there were no more tasks he could do for anyone that wouldn't involve 'treading on anyone's toes' or 'trying to show off' – that one _really_ stung and Jason hadn't resisted the barbed comment he'd shot back, either – Jason took himself away to a quiet area of the woods where he could stretch out, undisturbed. He couldn't think of anyone who would be looking for him anyway. He was practically a stranger in their midst. With a weary sigh, he took out the History work from his bag and unrolled the scrolls. If he could do no good here, he may as well be prepared for his exam. But even as his eyes roamed over the page, committing to memory as many of the names and dates and battles as he could, Jason's chest still persistently ached. He had never got to ask his father about Hercules but now that particular problem didn't really seem to matter any more. At least, not in the same way.

As the day wore on, Jason found himself relaxing a little more, putting his current troubles out of his mind and focusing on the here and now. He read through each scroll several times, jotted down some notes on a piece of parchment; tested himself, checked his answers then tested himself again. With a smile, he began to feel his confidence build as every test yielded more and more correct answers. It was just like Uni or studying for A-levels: Jason had always hated the thought of it and usually put it off for as long as he could. But once he finally committed himself to the act of learning and got stuck into it, the knowledge came to him surprisingly easily. At least he would be able to please Pasiphae, if no-one else and - he had to admit it - he quite enjoyed the success for his _own_ pleasure too, not just his parents'.

By the time afternoon drew in to early evening, Jason had been so consumed with his thoughts, that he hadn't realised how cold it really was. He sneezed loudly and it rattled his chest, making his collar bone ache. Quickly, Jason gathered up his scrolls and shoved them back into his bag, inwardly wincing at the thought of going back into the 'den' and pretending nothing bothered him. It was possible, _just possible_, that the time apart had done Aeson good.

As he wandered back into the communal area, a large cooking pot hung on a tripod over the fire and the tempting smells of meat and vegetables made Jason realise how hungry he was.

"There you are!" His father's voice called out to Jason as he emerged from the trees. Jason considered both the words and the tone: neither seemed particularly distant or cold. He risked a smile and Aeson nodded back to him. "I thought you were going to miss supper. Come on." The man beckoned him over to the circle, with one hand.

Encouraged, Jason made his way over to the camp, suddenly exhausted and cold. He found a space in the circle and wearily sunk down onto the ground, just letting the heat from the fire warm him up and seep through his clothes. It felt good and, forgetting for the moment about supper, Jason smiled and closed his eyes, letting his head drop forwards towards his chest. A low chuckle from his side made Jason look up. Aeson stood over him, looking down with mixed emotions.

"You'll need to get your bowl from the house if you're going to eat," he reminded Jason. Then he added, in a decidedly snider tone: "We don't have table service here, I'm afraid."

For a long moment, Jason took a deep breath and clasped his hands together in his lap, his head bowed. When he looked up again, he fixed his father straight in the eye.

"Okay," he announced quietly. "I'm done." Aeson looked back at him in mild confusion but Jason ignored it. "I can see I've disturbed you and I won't take up any more of your time." He pushed to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulder, forcing Aeson to retreat back a step to give him room. A few of the others gave him a curious look for his abrupt departure. A few more gave him a sympathetic look that seemed to say that they really didn't _blame him_.

"Jason…" Aeson began, but his son cut him off.

"I'm going back to the city." He shot his father a pointed look, laced with anger, sadness and regret. Despite the edge to his voice, his eyes still shone, treacherously. "Thanks for having me." He didn't bother to disguise either the sarcasm _or_ the hurt.

One quick stop to his bed to pick up his cloak and the other few belongings he had brought with him and Jason was climbing the path to the crevice before he knew it. And although Aeson stood and watched his movements, perhaps with a heavy heart – Jason couldn't tell – he made no move to stop him.

* * *

By the time Jason arrived back in Atlantis, his nerves were shot through, he was freezing and he was thoroughly exhausted. It was not quite dawn although first light was not far off. Jason paused as the city rose into view from the Northern Gate. There were still several hours before a respectable, polite time of day to be calling on people. He had no money for an inn and besides, it wasn't worth it for the few hours remaining. Jason thought about where to go. His feet ached _so_ badly that he continually shifted from foot to foot, to try to alleviate the pressure. Walking wasn't too bad, but standing still was pure torture. He needed to make a decision as to where he was headed. His head was also swimming, probably from fatigue and lack of a decent meal. At least once on the journey he had been forced to stop when nausea overtook him. The only thing he had to drink in his bag was the wine he had bought from the agora and somehow, Jason didn't think it would do him any good. He had passed by a small stream a while back but that was several hours ago now and his thirst was prickling again. He should have emptied the wine and refilled it with water, but he hadn't thought about it then and it was too late now.

Well, he couldn't go home – Hercules had made it very clear that there wasn't room until this brother of his left (and Jason suddenly realised that he didn't know how long the brother was intending to stay). His thoughts turned to the Palace but then abruptly stopped, his heart hammering in his chest. If turning up at Aeson's in the middle of the night, was rude, would the same apply here? Could he just waltz in and out of the place any time of the day or night, treating the place as if he owned it or as if it was a hotel? Doubt held him back. He couldn't face being called up on the same offence twice in almost as many days. _Once_ was humiliating enough.

Slowly, Jason's feet started moving forward, almost independently to his mind (which Jason had to admit, _wasn't_ functioning on a particularly high level). It was with faint surprise, a short while later, that Jason registered where they had taken him to.

The gentle roar and swish of the waves soothed his frazzled nerves like a balm. Jason sank down onto the soft sand, finding shelter by an outcropping of rocks and trees. He wrapped his cloak about him and fell backwards on the sand, propping his bag under his head as a makeshift pillow. He was so tired and the lapping waves were gentle and rhythmic. It would not be long before dawn and then Jason would head straight to the Palace to change and prepare for his exam. But in the meantime, he closed his eyes and let rest take him.

* * *

Jason awoke to the sound of the gulls crying and the shouts of fishermen as they hauled their latest catch back onto the shore. The sun shone brightly on his face and the constant breeze picked up flurries of sand and continually sprayed his eyes, nose and mouth with them. Coughing slightly, Jason sat up, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes while succeeding only in rubbing sand _into_ them. It took a moment for Jason to take stock of his surroundings but a moment later and the events of last night came flooding back to him. He had slept quickly and heavily. With a start, Jason breathed in sharply. The sun was far too high in the sky to be dawning. It must be mid-morning already. Cursing loudly, Jason scrambled to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He hadn't meant to sleep so long but he didn't have long to get back to the Palace.

It was fair to say that Jason ran on, operating on only a fraction of his levels of awareness: his mind was reeling, his heart hammering in his chest, his limbs were shaky and didn't always cooperate when he tried to round a corner or navigate past a vendor's cart and frankly, he wasn't sure what driving force was propelling him onwards.

Once he reached the Palace, Jason rushed inside and up the staircase to his room. A jug of fresh clear water had been left on the side table and Jason eagerly poured himself first one, then two cups, gulping them down in quick succession. It was not long at all before he had finished the whole jug and, much to his displeasure, realised he could not hold down so much water in one sitting, bringing the last cup of water straight back up again and into the bowl set aside for washing. Straightening, he took a moment to quickly pull off his old clothes and hurriedly dress in his palace ones. He ran a comb through his hair, dislodging a fair amount of sand and tangles. Then, emptying his bag of his travelling gear and the wine, Jason gathered up the rest of his equipment for his lessons, and quietly shut the door behind him as he left. With any luck, Acrion would have waited for him, even if was a little late – Jason didn't fancy explaining to Pasiphae why, far from _failing_ the exam, he didn't even turn up to _take_ it.

* * *

By the time Jason eventually returned to his chambers, less than an hour had passed though to him, it had felt like a whole lot longer. He pushed the door shut with one foot and let his bag drop heavily to the floor. His brain was numb, his emotions were tumultuous and his whole body shook from exhaustion, both emotional and physical. The events of the last four days had left him utterly hollowed out and in the very centre of him, a large black bubble of anger and hurt was steadily swelling, pushing to get out.

Sinking down onto his bed, Jason scooted until he was sitting up, leaning against the headboard and he stared blankly ahead at the wall opposite him, trying to marshal his thoughts, trying to dissipate that black, churning feeling inside his gut and to keep back the weak, sharp prick of tears. Crying would make him as pathetic as he felt and though Jason still struggled to wrap his head around _how_ he might have screwed everything up _so_ badly when he had only ever tried to do his best, Jason could at least allow himself the dignity of not wailing like an infant or cursing his bad luck and how the world wasn't fair. Even though, right now, it didn't _feel_ very fair and Jason had a near-overwhelming urge to kick and scream and rage at the injustice like a sulky toddler. But he would not. What was the point?

He took a deep breath and felt the shudder run though it. _Get a grip_, he commanded himself, pressing his lips tightly shut: _It's no big deal. But you don't leave this room until you've pulled yourself together._

A sharp rapping suddenly sounded on his door and Jason swore under his breath. Whoever it was could just go away again – it was fair to say that he wasn't in the mood for company. The knocking came again but still Jason said nothing, staring down at his hands until whoever it was passed on by. Jason tensed as he waited, listening for the sound of receding footsteps moving on down the passageway. A short time passed and the knocking did not come again. But just as Jason breathed a sigh of relief, he heard a soft creak as the latch lifted and the door opened.

Looking to see who was coming into the room, Jason suddenly felt the black cloud inside him swell to almost bursting point. He could not help but glance away, closing his eyes momentarily as Minos stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and then standing just inside, regarding Jason with a long, careful look. When Jason did not speak, Minos raised a silent eyebrow, sensing something very off with the boy. "You usually answer your door," Minos pointed out. His voice was curious, held a hint of remonstration but it was calm and quiet nonetheless. He watched as Jason eventually took a deep breath and looked directly at him.

"I know," Jason admitted, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you." _Why_ Minos was here, Jason had a pretty good feeling: he had spoken to Acrion – he _had_ to have done. This day just kept getting better and better…

Minos nodded. Though it didn't explain why Jason was being so silent, looking at the young man – the way his frame was hunched, the pale complexion of his face and the way his lips were pressed tightly together, perhaps to stop them from trembling – he was starting to get an idea. The fact that Jason had not immediately leapt to his feet and asked what he could do for him as he would normally have done when the king came to visit, was speaking volumes for his state of mind. The young man before him made no attempt to move off the bed, very little attempt at eye-contact and if a conversation _was_ to flow between them, it would clearly not be starting with Jason. Inwardly, Minos sighed as he made his way over to the chair by Jason's small table: the lad was troubled and it seemed today that he was not destined to play the King. He seated himself carefully and stared quietly at Jason for a long moment. The young man looked as tired and as unhappy as he remembered seeing him. Perhaps it would be better to fetch his mother? Minos began to wonder.

But just as he thought the silence would stretch on forever between him and his stepson, Jason's soft voice broke through it: "Have you spoken to Master Acrion?" Minos looked at him, surprised. It seemed an odd question and he didn't miss the way Jason tensed when he asked it. It was usually Pasiphae who raked him over the embers for falling behind on his studies.

"No," Minos answered. "Should I have?"

Jason simply shrugged and gave a mirthless half-laugh. "I'm sure you will sooner or later: you or Pasiphae." He ran both hands through his brown curls, gripping the roots tightly and drew his knees up to his chest. Minos frowned at the state Jason appeared to be in. "It's just one of those days," Jason laughed out, harshly. "And I don't understand any of it." Abruptly, he released his hair and took a long, cool breath. When he raised his head again, his expression was calmer- blank, even. The king's frown deepened.

"Jason," he commanded quietly. "If I am to hear of these events anyway, I would rather hear them first from you and with it," he added shrewdly, "the events that have led _up_ to them." He watched with a small smile as Jason grimaced, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, perhaps to shut him out. _I'm not going away_, Minos thought with quiet amusement, _so ignoring me will do no good_. But the boy was ready to talk – he could sense that.

And he didn't have long to wait. When Jason opened his eyes, he fixed such an honest, raw look upon the king. "What are the laws of hospitality?" Jason asked, quietly.

Minos was once more, surprised at the turn of questioning. "They are the Sacred Laws, commanded by Zeus himself that say if a stranger or traveller comes to your door, you must not deny them food and shelter. To break such rules," he added, "is a great dishonour." Minos wasn't sure why Jason had asked the question but he didn't miss the way the lad's eyes began to water and he nodded, painfully.

"I see," he responded. "Thank you. Makes sense now."

"Jason?" the king pressed a little more forcefully, leaning in closer to his stepson.

Quickly, Jason shook his head. "Never mind me, Sire. It's just been a really bad couple of days but I'll be fine. You wouldn't be interested." But Minos simply stared meaningfully at him.

"Start at the beginning and I shall make that judgment for myself."

Jason hesitated, this really not being the time or place. But Minos appeared stubbornly, commandingly relentless and so Jason sighed and gave in:

"It's nothing really. I just had a small argument with my friend." Jason suddenly winced when he realised how juvenile that sounded. "I mean," he amended quickly, "it wasn't really an argument. It was more like we didn't understand each other…I think. I don't know: maybe he thinks I've changed; or maybe I _have_ and I just didn't realise or maybe." He sighed, swallowing a lump in his throat: "maybe we're just starting to drift apart?" He risked a look up at Minos, who sat watching him thoughtfully and Jason found he was grateful for the lack of interruption. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "So anyway, I didn't stay in the city." At this, Minos raised a sharp eyebrow.

"Where did you go?" he demanded. The idea that Jason had simply been wandering, without protection for three days, alarmed him. Perhaps it _was_ time to assign Jason a personal guard if he was going to be so unpredictable? But Jason's next words put him more at ease.

"I went to see Aeson. I thought, maybe, I could talk to him about what had happened." Minos nodded once more. There would never be a time when he enjoyed hearing the former king's name – it _still_ made him nervous, despite Pasiphae's insistence that he was harmless and the more time he spent with Jason, the more it worried Minos. But Jason loved Aeson and it was important for a son to love his father and Jason had never given him any _reason_ to worry.

"_Did_ he help?"

Jason glanced down at his lap, embarrassed. "It was my fault: I arrived, unannounced in the middle of the night. I didn't think." He gave a short, hard laugh, his eyes shining brightly and his voice strangled. "I just thought he'd be glad to see me. I didn't even think about how rude it was. I can't believe I was so stupid. I don't think he was pleased to see me but he said…"

"That he would abide by the laws of hospitality." Minos finished for him, a hard edge to his voice. Jason nodded and something inside of the king became inflamed with anger. However, he held his tongue and allowed Jason to continue.

"Well, it didn't really get any better after that – everything I did was either wrong or I was doing it for the wrong reasons. So I left a little earlier than usual and when I arrived back in Atlantis, it wasn't quite dawn yet."

Minos frowned again: firstly, that the boy had been travelling alone and through the night and secondly, that he had not heard the guards say that Jason had arrived last night. A cold, angry suspicion took hold of him.

Jason glanced away, sighing. "I wasn't sure if it was alright to turn up here in the middle of the night and I'm not sure that Hercules _wants _to see me so I went down to the beach instead." He didn't see the way Minos narrowed his eyes, intent as he was on just finishing his wretched story. "I only meant to stay a couple of hours until dawn, you know? Just watching the sea. But I fell asleep and when I woke up I knew I was late and I knew I had this exam and I'd studied for it. I actually _studied_ for it this time – I _knew_ it. I thought there could be at least _one_ thing that I didn't mess up." Jason trailed off, smiling sadly to himself.

"I take it, it did _not_ go well?"

Jason shrugged. "I barely had a chance to find out. I could hardly focus on the words, I couldn't concentrate. What I _did_ write was apparently rubbish. Acrion just tore it up and said that I had insulted him by coming to his lesson," and here he mimicked his tutor's deep tones, "_with such ill preparation and in such an unsightly display of disarray_." Jason sat back on his bed and once more ran his fingers through his hair, taking a shaky breath. "I never meant to insult _anyone_. And I _was_ prepared – sort of. But I couldn't exactly _miss it_ and I didn't know what else to do." He ended with a soft laugh. "I seem to have made a mess of everything I've touched."

Jason sighed again and bent his head down onto his chest. He wasn't sure if Minos would have anything to say, short of reading him the riot act for yet another failure. But he didn't care anymore. He had said his piece, told his story and whether or not it was listened to, it had felt good to say it. For what seemed like a long moment, the king said nothing and Jason didn't bother looking up at him. If Minos wanted his attention, he would command it soon enough but he was too tired and too miserable to give much thought to _anything_ right then.

When Minos did speak, his voice was calmer than Jason had expected and it was also not to simply dismiss him. "Well then," he began, "it appears, as you say, that you have had some eventful days past. Perhaps we should begin with the most recent." Jason glanced up at the king, his body tensing. "No, you should _not_ have come to your lesson in the state that you are in. A change of clothes will hardly pay remedy to a night of walking and a morning spent sleeping on a beach." Jason blushed, furiously, looking down at the bedclothes but nodding his understanding at the gentle reprimand. He _had_ been a fool! He just hadn't had the brain-power to think _clearly_. Minos continued: "If such an instance occurs again, for whatever reason, make your apologies to your tutor and arrange to come back in the afternoon or else the next day. Contrary to your belief, your mother _would_ understand even if she _may_ have something to say about the _reasons_ for it." Taking a deep breath, Jason looked up at Minos.

"Yes, Sire. I'm sorry."

Minos waved it away. "I am sure this test can be re-taken when you are properly refreshed, rested and fed. Now, on to other matters." And here he paused and looked more kindly at Jason. "This friend of yours…Hercules?" Jason nodded. "He is the same man who fought the Earth Bull alongside you? Who spoke up for you in court? He is the man you entered _into_ this arrangement to save?"

As Minos spoke, Jason felt worry churning in his heart. "Yes, Sire," he said quietly. Then the king chuckled softly.

"Jason, such friendships as this – such loyalty – it is not so easily lost that one misunderstanding or petty squabble can break it apart. Speak to him calmly on your next visit and you shall see that I am right."

"Kings are _always_ right," Jason pointed out, a faint smile on his face. His stepfather laughed, lightly.

"That is true, but I do not say this to you as a king." He tapped him lightly on the arm, provoking another smile from the young man. "Now, as for Aeson." His voice grew a touch harder. "I do not know his state of mind and I cannot explain his actions or why he was not pleased to see you. Perhaps he was, in his own way? But I can assure you of this:" And here he leaned forwards and carefully took a hold of Jason's chin, tilting it upwards until their eyes locked. "_This_ is your home, whenever you want it. There is _never_ a time, day or night when you are not welcome to arrive. You do not need an invitation and you will never be turned away." He gave the head he held, a gentle shake, watching as Jason blinked away the moisture in his eyes. "You know my views on your being abroad, alone, at night. I do not wish to hear of you repeating such actions again."

And then he released him and sat back in his chair. "If you do not wish to travel to see your father again, certainly no-one is going to insist upon it. Take some time – consider what you would like to do. And now," he announced, standing. "You must rest. I shall inform your mother of your return and…" he paused, giving Jason a rueful smile, "the result of your lesson." He watched with some amusement as Jason grimaced. "She will understand, Jason – I promise you and I am sure she will see that you are made comfortable."

Jason nodded, surprised by just how much better he was now feeling, how the world was not suddenly conspiring against him. He smiled, fatigue once more trying to take him as peace finally washed over his troubled thoughts. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he mumbled, already wriggling back down the bed until he was lying flat. He sighed as he felt his aching muscles relax into the bed and Minos chuckled, quietly.

"You are welcome," he replied, quietly exiting the room and leaving the young man to his much-needed rest.

* * *

That's it for now. If you have a moment to let me know what you think, then I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading this far!


	3. Chapter 3

The Five of Swords

Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own any of them.

Thank you so much to everyone who responded to chapter 2 and to _awanthika_, _gotanygrapes_ and _Angel_, who I can't respond to personally – thanks for your reviews, I really appreciate them. I'm sorry this has been so long in coming. I don't know if anyone's still following this story but if you are, then I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Three

Before he knew it, three days had passed in the blink of an eye and Jason found himself once more approaching the front door of his house. Only things were just a little different now: not knowing how long this brother of Hercules was going to stay, Jason wasn't sure of his reception. He had bought no wine or pies from the agora. His feelings of despondency and his concerns about his place in life had, over time with both his mother (who was indeed, far more understanding and loving than Jason had initially given her credit for) and his stepfather, been put to a sort of uneasy rest. Keeping Minos' words of reassurance in his heart, Jason paused for a fraction on the doorstep, wondering if he should knock first. If it turned out there still was no room for him, then that was fine: but Jason wasn't leaving without a decent conversation with both his friends. There was certainly room enough around the table for four of them to share a meal and clear the air. Jason sent up a silent prayer that all would be back to normal again. If he had to move on, he had already decided to return to the Palace instead. A sad, bitter feeling encompassed Jason every time he thought of his father and his strange coldness. Certainly their relationship would not be ended on one bad day. Of course Jason would see him again and they would mend whatever bridges had been damaged between them. But not just yet: Aeson had hurt him and the young man intended to keep his distance for a little while, just until they had both gained a bit more perspective on the matter.

But that door was not opening itself. Taking a deep breath, Jason pushed down on the handle and swung it open, stepping inside quickly, as though he may be thrown out again if someone cottoned on to what he was doing. He shut the door behind him, keeping his bag on his shoulder for now, until he knew more. Looking around, Jason was faintly surprised to see the house unchanged, looking as it always did – a little cluttered (where Pythagoras had not found time to see to yet), smelling faintly of the herbs and plants that the young genius kept hanging for his various remedies and the familiar smell of cracked, worn leather. A smile crept over his face as its little comforts began to fill the cracks in his confidence.

"Hello?" he called out, cautiously. "Anyone home?" Jason took a few more steps inside, stopping by the table where the food-basket from the Palace had been delivered and sat waiting. Pythagoras was yet to bring it to the kitchen to unpack. With a small smile, Jason casually turned the jars and bowls over, examining the contents. There were, he noted with a touch of guilt, noticeably fewer wine skeins and no pies whatsoever. A large wrapped package he discovered, though, contained both a wheel of his favourite cheese and a selection of cured meats that he had taken a liking to over breakfasts at the Palace. Jason grinned, feeling a pleasant warmth in his stomach. His mother's hand had most definitely been guiding this week's selection – both in her small, loving gestures and in her quiet, protective moments of passive-aggressiveness.

Turning his attention away from the food, Jason glanced towards his bed, unsurprised to see an unfamiliar travelling bag underneath it. The bed had been neatly made – far neater than he himself usually was – the warm winter furs folded neatly down at the foot of the bed and the pillows perfectly smoothed. Either Pythagoras had been playing a good host or their guest was particularly meticulous. He began to picture the two very opposite natures of these brothers and what their childhood must have been like – each one's habits grinding on the other one's nerves. And then it dawned on him: the _bag_ was still here. The _man_ was still here. So there would be no room, once more, for him. He sighed, feeling his disappointment keenly and a touch of annoyance too.

"Jason?" Pythagoras' bright voice suddenly sounded from behind him, causing him to spin around. The mathematician's face was beaming widely as he approached from the balcony. "Sorry, I was hanging some washing – the air is crisp enough to dry it well today." Seeing his friend so happy to see him, melted Jason's worries away. Pythagoras quickly crossed the room and embraced him with wide, open arms. "It's so good to see you, Jason," he enthused. "I missed you last week."

Laughing lightly and silently soaking up his friend's welcome, Jason waved it off. "I hear it's very crowded in here." He didn't miss the way Pythagoras' kind features hardened a little as he firmly shook his head.

"Not so crowded that we can not make room for four. Hercules was being a little…over-zealous last week." Then he pointed to a comfortable-looking mattress on the floor near the hearth. Plump pillows were piled up on one end and a warm, soft selection of blankets had been drawn up over the bed, the ends tucked snugly beneath the mattress. It looked like the world's most comfortable bed and Jason was stuck by a sudden urge to collapse right into it and test it out. But he didn't. Instead, he turned and grinned back at his friend.

"That's for me?"

Pythagoras nodded. "I am sorry you cannot have your own bed back yet but I've made this one as comfortable as I can: the mattress is well-stuffed with hay beneath and feathers on top." He paused before adding, a little icily. "Hercules did it." Jason tried not to wince at the hard tone, wondering if Hercules had been given any say in the matter at all.

"It's great," he assured his friend, sincerely. "Thanks." Carefully, he walked over to it and sat down, surprised by how something so soft and downy, could still support his weight. He let his bag drop to the floor beside the mattress and swung his legs over onto the mattress, lying down with a flop and a smile as he all but melted into the pillows. Above him, Jason heard an irritated sigh from Pythagoras.

"Jason please get your muddy feet off the blankets – they've just been washed and dried." With an embarrassed apology, Jason quickly did as his friend asked, scooting back around and pushing himself back onto his feet.

"I love it," he confirmed again. "So I'll get to meet this Iphicles after all?"

"Yes – I'm glad you do. Though, not wanting to be a bad host, I will admit that I shall be even gladder to get the house back to normal when he goes." The volume of Pythagoras' voice indicated to Jason that their guest was not within the house or else he would never have risked causing offence. As he spoke, Pythagoras collected the basket from the table and carried it into the kitchen.

"Wine?" he asked Jason. "It's almost time for the meal so I do not see it as excessive to enjoy a cup now." Eagerly, Jason nodded. Now that he knew he was staying _and_ with Hercules' apparent blessing, both his spirits and his waning appetite were returning. A cup of sweet red wine sounded perfect, sitting about the fire and sharing the events of the last few days. As if sensing his thoughts, Pythagoras called out: "Why don't you go and sit by the fire and I shall bring some over?"

A moment later and both boys had pulled up wooden benches around the hearth, softening them with warm folds of fur. Pythagoras had heated the wine ever so slightly, over the cooking fire and added just a touch of spice – another exotic gift from the weekly food-baskets. Jason inhaled the scent over his cup, closing his eyes as memories of mulled wine on Christmas Eves flooded back to him. The fire popped and crackled, sending sparks flying. Jason grinned and, spotting a pine-cone amongst the pile of kindling, tossed it onto the fire, watching it suddenly soar and explode. Pausing in his own drink, Pythagoras rolled his eyes, fondly, causing Jason to laugh. Jason found amusement in the simplest aspects of their daily lives. But it did occasionally remind the young genius to stop _analysing_ the world around him and to start taking _pleasure_ from it more often.

"So," Jason began, after they had each had time to enjoy their quiet drink. "What's he like?"

Assuming Jason meant Iphicles, Pythagoras gave a neutral shrug. "Different to Hercules," he said, carefully. "There _are_ similarities – vague ones. You will see what I mean when you meet him. But it seems remarkable indeed that these two men should have grown up in the same household and be borne from the same parents." He shook his blonde curls in mild amazement. "Did you know they are twins?"

Jason almost choked on his sip of wine, his eyes widening. He put the cup next to him on the bench as he coughed, thumping himself in the middle of his chest. Finally, his breathing returned to normal. "Twins?" he repeated. "I'm taking it they can't be identical?" The idea of another Hercules running around, the same but changed through differing experiences, made him feel quite disconcerted. Pythagoras sat forwards, shaking his head.

"No," he agreed. "Fraternal only. Iphicles was born first, incidentally. Strange, but I rarely think of Hercules as being the younger of _anybody_." The young man paused, looking thoughtful. "It's funny: not just because they hardly seem alike but the way Hercules is acting around his brother."

"How do you mean?"

Pythagoras hesitated a moment, unsure whether to give voice to his suspicions. Would that be uncharitable of him? But he had _so_ missed Jason's company and having someone to confide in that his conscience could not withstand the battering of his calculating mind for long. "Twitchy," he supplied. "We barely say ten words around the dinner table before Hercules forcibly changes the subject to something like the weather or the local pie-man." Jason grinned, imagining his burly friend's somewhat club-footed way of barrelling on to a different subject. "_And_," Pythagoras continued now on a roll, "he asks him every morning if he thinks he will be leaving soon. _Every_ morning, though he tries to phrase it politely. Well, politely for Hercules."

"How come he _isn't_ leaving?"

"Storms out at sea. Iphicles says he sailed from Athens but until the weather calms, it's not safe to sail back again." They both paused as they took another sip of their wine, letting the liquid warm their chests.

"Still though," Jason pointed out. "He hasn't seen him in a long time – there's bound to be some weirdness." He didn't point out the similar relationship between his blonde friend and his own brother, Arcum. The events that nearly cost Pythagoras his life and also dredged up dark and painful secrets for his friend, was not something Jason found easy to reference. He had never had a brother and he never would, save for what he liked to think he shared with Pythagoras, but Jason was a firm believer in loyalty amongst your family: that Arcum had been so willing to murder his own brother had angered Jason more than he felt comfortable admitting to either of his friends.

With a reluctant sigh, Pythagoras admitted, "That is true. Though they never seem to speak of the past which makes it difficult to piece together reasons."

Jason nodded, sensing his inquisitive friend was never happy with an unsolved mystery. "Where are they now?"

Pythagoras glanced out at the darkening sky. Storm clouds were coming in fast. He must bring the washing in from the balcony and shut up the windows. "Iphicles likes his walks – he says it gives him time to think and Hercules volunteered to go with him." Which had surprised the young man – Hercules usually breathed a sigh of relief when his brother left the house. Pythagoras harboured a sinking suspicion that their friend had been trying to delay meeting Jason again. Well good! Pythagoras suddenly decided. That meant he was feeling guilty for last week's foolishness and well he should do. But he didn't want Hercules caught in the rain, either.

Thankfully, at that moment, the front door banged open and was quickly followed by two sets of heavy feet entering, stamping on the ground to either dislodge mud or else to warm them up. "Ah," Pythagoras exclaimed. "Good. Would either of you like some wine to warm up with?" He rose from the fire and went to the kitchen, pouring two more cups.

"Ah!" Hercules exclaimed, coming to join him in the kitchen, his outstretched ruddy hands and his long, satisfied sigh giving all the answer Pythagoras needed as he handed a steaming cup to his friend.

"Most kind," a deep voice rumbled, appreciatively. The man was still hanging up his cloak by the door and removing his muddy, offensive boots before entering the rest of the house. Immediately, Jason swivelled to get a look, still half-expecting to see Hercules but perhaps with a shock of curly red hair. What he saw couldn't have surprised him more.

Standing a good foot above his brother, Iphicles' broad chest and shoulders still showed the lines and tones of his muscles, even beneath his thick, green woollen tunic and though sturdy, his body was lean. He would be, Jason thought, quite an intimidating figure to meet coming down a dark alley. His dark trousers and good quality leather boots, indicated he had done well enough for himself in life and was certainly above the usual class of garments they occasionally purchased in the agora. The man's arms too, though hidden beneath long sleeves, were muscular, though what may have _begun_ as the strength of a fighting man had, over the years, been tuned and remoulded by hard, day to day work. Trying not to make his inspection too obvious, Jason tried to analyse the face he saw as Iphicles met Pythagoras in the kitchen, accepting the proffered drink with a sincere murmur of gratitude. His face bore little resemblance to his brother's, except perhaps for the set of his eyes. His face was longer, narrower and it was framed by a short-cropped head of dark blonde hair, trimmed neatly around his ears and the back of his neck. A beard, as neatly kept as the hair on his head, graced his chin but what struck Jason the most was the long, jagged white scar that ran the length of his face from just under his left eye, down to the left-hand corner of his mouth. However that had happened, though clearly long-healed over, it must have been painful.

As if aware of the scrutiny he was under, the man suddenly turned and fixed his eyes on Jason. Immediately, he blushed in embarrassment and, if anything confirmed his guilt more, looking away quickly. However, Iphicles did not appear to have taken offence. He stepped forwards towards where Jason had risen to his feet, still by the fire.

"Forgive me," the man began. "You must be Jason?"

Hesitantly, Jason nodded. Hercules had come to stand just a little behind his brother and Jason quickly caught his friend's eye. His expression was wary as he watched the exchange carefully though Jason couldn't think of a reason why. "Thank you for the use of your bed," Iphicles continued, bowing slightly at the waist. "I hope to be able to return it to you as soon as possible, once these wretched storms at sea have passed."

The man's deep voice had an oddly lulling effect. Jason smiled, bashfully. "That's fine. You don't need to rush off on my account – I'm more than happy with the temporary arrangements." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hercules almost bite his tongue and again, wondered at the man's strange behaviour.

"Alright everyone," Pythagoras suddenly announced. "Lunch is ready." He held in his hands a large, steaming pot of pork stew, richly filled out with carrots, beans and onions. "Hercules, can you grab the bread and Jason, can you get the bowls from the shelf?" Glad to have something to do, Jason complied and a short flurry of activity followed wherein food was laid out and eagerly served to the four hungry men, now seated around the table.

Once bowls were full and wine cups re-filled and the odd exchange of pleasant conversation had broken the ice, Pythagoras sat back a moment and beamed at everyone. "So," he announced, "I am very glad, Iphicles that you and Jason have finally got to meet. It would have been a shame indeed if you had been forced to leave without meeting the last member of our rather strange little family." Jason blushed, furiously though he gave an embarrassed smile all the same. Glancing up, he caught Hercules' eye. He and the wrestler had not had a quiet moment to themselves yet, though the guilt he often saw in his friend's eyes and, like now, the fondness (even if it _was_ a little sad) let Jason know that his previous fears of rejection were unfounded.

"Yes, Jason," Hercules added quietly, clearing his throat. The man glanced down at his bowl for a moment before making himself meet his young friend's waiting expression. "I'm sorry about last week. Don't know what I was thinking – there's plenty of room and even if there wasn't, we'd make do." He watched Jason try to wave off the apology but he knew perfectly well how relieved his friend was to hear it. He could read the signs on the boy, clear as day and the fact that he had hurt his young friend by his rejection, still stung. "We missed you." The last admittance was muttered quickly and half-masked by a slurp of a spoonful of stew but Jason heard it all the same. He grinned.

"That's okay. It's just good to be back." Turning to Pythagoras, he raised a spoonful of the stew. "This is delicious – thanks."

Pythagoras gave a modest shrug. "It's amazing what you can do when you are fortunate enough to have the right ingredients. These spices, for example…" He paused a moment in confusion, as Hercules suddenly cleared his throat, shooting a puzzled look at the wrestler. "Well…yes," he finished, rather awkwardly, unsure as to _why_ he felt he couldn't finish his sentence.

For a moment, Jason glanced curiously between his two friends before turning his attention to Iphicles. "So are you in Atlantis to visit Hercules?"

Hercules smiled tightly as Iphicles regarded him with a long, slow look. "Yes," he eventually answered. "I felt it was time to reconnect with the past."

Jason chuckled. "What was Hercules like as a child?" Pythagoras leaned forwards, grinning even as their guest waved a politely dismissive hand.

"Much as he is now. Though Time has left its mark upon us all." For a moment, he locked a meaningful look with his brother and Jason _wished_ he knew what was making Hercules so uncomfortable. Then, Iphicles turned to look, with interest, at Jason. "So, Pythagoras tells me you have a job outside of the city that takes you away from home for several days each week?"

Glancing quickly at Pythagoras, his young friend smiled and gave a short shrug, indicating that that was as far as he had got in explaining Jason's regular absence. Beside him, Hercules narrowed his eyes, presumably trying to think of a way to fill the gap. But Jason's mouth was already talking. "Uh, yes," he answered. "I work for a wealthy family on an estate outside of the city. Near the hills."

Iphicles raised a curious eyebrow. "And what is it that you do there?"

Jason glanced down at the table: he hated lying, especially on the spot. But he certainly couldn't reveal the truth. "I'm sort of whatever they need me to be – an errand boy; a guard."

At that, the tall man breathed in deeply, closing his eyes momentarily as if some kind of kindred understanding had just passed, unspoken, between the two of them. "Ah, a _guard_. A soldier. A noble profession – protecting others. _I_ was a guard once – did Hercules tell you?"

It was the most animated Jason had seen their guest become but before he could question him further, Hercules rose so quickly that he banged his thighs on the table, causing everyone's bowls to jog and all eyes to turn to him. "Iphicles!" Hercules interrupted, fixing such a look upon his brother that, even without the rest of Hercules' speech, the man understood enough to silently, discretely nod. "We need more wine. Come, help me choose a bottle in the kitchen." And with that, Hercules stumbled away from the table and backed in to the kitchen, waiting tensely for his brother to follow. Muttering a quiet apology for the interruption, Iphicles rose and excused himself to follow.

"There's not much of a choice!" Pythagoras called after them. "We only _have_ two bottles out there."

Once alone in the kitchen, Hercules rounded on his brother. "Are you out of your mind?" he insisted, in a quiet hiss. Iphicles' stony expression did not falter though he raised one eyebrow in a gesture for Hercules to explain. Seeing that his brother either refused to listen to reason or else was genuinely blind to it, Hercules rolled his eyes, checked Jason and Pythagoras were still engaged in their conversation at the table, and then leaned in a little closer to Iphicles. "Look, it's best not to dwell on the past – you understand?" Iphicles frowned. "It's not the same as you remember it out there," Hercules continued, gesturing vaguely towards the door. "Different times; different feelings. People are happy with the way things are. You just can't go round blurting out…"

"I bear no shame for my past, however you may feel differently," Iphicles shot back, though in deference to his brother's sense of urgency, he kept his voice low. Not as low as Hercules might have _liked_, of course.

"Even if it could get you killed?" he countered though something deeper, hidden and uneasy, danced just beneath the surface: an unspoken truth that neither could put voice to.

But Iphicles shook his head, laughing harshly. "With so many people in the city for the month of Poseideon, who will notice a few more strangers in their midst." His gaze turned far away for a moment and as Hercules looked up at his brother, worry filling his tired eyes, he felt a sadness enshroud the man. Abruptly, Iphicles seemed to come back to himself. "No," he announced. "You must not be concerned for me, brother." Then, before Hercules could say another word, Iphicles had already turned back to the young men at the table.

"So," he announced, coming back to join them. "It has been many years since I was last in Atlantis and I have not ventured further than the agora and a few old haunts thus far. I should be most grateful if you could all accompany me on a walk around the city tomorrow. Perhaps we can compare the old and the new? I am curious to see how my city has changed."

He re-seated himself with a polite smile and Pythagoras beamed back. Jason smiled too though there was something still bothering him – perhaps it was to do with Hercules' strange behaviour or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that every gesture of Iphicles seemed to be concealing something else? But, Pythagoras was happy enough and he had been around the man for longer.

Jason nodded. "Sounds great. What time do you want to leave?" The man had a definite military vibe about him and those kind of people formed disciplines that were very hard to break, Jason feared. The idea of cold baths at dawn, followed by an eight-mile hike was utterly unappealing to the young man. Before Iphicles could reply, however, Hercules re-joined them, quickly saying:

"I can't do tomorrow, I'm afraid. I have to work."

Pythagoras raised an eyebrow. Hercules had not had a job last night. But then, he had been out quite a bit in recent hours – perhaps this had been his endeavour? But to seek employment while his family was visiting? It felt a little strange timing especially as, with the food and drink delivered each week from the Palace, demands on their money had gradually begun to lessen.

"I didn't know you had a job," Jason exclaimed. Hercules glanced down at him with a touch of irritation.

"It's not for long. I'm just transporting some grain from a farmer's barn to his customers. Should only be a couple of days." He beamed at them all and clapped his hands together, fixing his eye on Iphicles. "I'm sure you can entertain yourself for a couple of days and then I'll be more than happy to take you on the grand tour when I'm off work." He nudged his brother's shoulder with his elbow. "I have quite a few places in mind – trust me, you're going to love them!"

Jason grinned and rolled his eyes. He somehow couldn't imagine the straight-laced Iphicles rolling out of the tavern at two in the morning with a voluptuous woman wrapped about his person, already reeking of the morning after. However, Iphicles simply turned his head towards his brother, saying: "I am sure I shall find your guidance enlightening, brother and I am sorry that you are engaged for the coming few days. However," and here he turned to the two boys, "we do not need to wait so long to take a simple walk. Would the two of you be my guides in my brother's absence?"

"Sure," Jason shrugged,

"Absolutely," Pythagoras agreed. "We would be most happy to."

For the first time since meeting him, Jason saw their guest grin. "Splendid! There, you see brother?" He reached out a hand and clapped Hercules on the shoulder. "It all works out well in the end. I'm sure your young friends and I will have much to talk about on our travels." Hercules smiled tightly and turned away but not before Jason caught the sour, darkening expression on his face.

* * *

Morning light filtered through the silk hangings to cast golden rays over the Royal family's private breakfast. This was not the lavish spread reserved for formal banquets, although there would be many in Atlantis who would define _lavish_ in very different terms. This table was smaller, more intimate and certainly Ariadne and occasionally, her father, appreciated the difference. This was family. Pasiphae nodded to a waiting server to refresh her glass of pomegranate juice, so much like the blood-red flow of wine. As the serving woman hurried to fulfil the Queen's request, Pasiphae sat back, silently watching her husband animatedly discussing the festivities with her stepdaughter. It was rare they _saw_ Ariadne these days, though Pasiphae could not bring herself to regret it. It had to be said that she shared far fewer barbs with the girl these days. That was certainly Jason's influence. He had a way of putting people at their ease, breaking through icy barriers with his unassuming ways and his somewhat audacious sense of humour. He could include the whole room in one sweeping smile and make you all, for a moment, forget your pettiness. With Jason around the table, Pasiphae reluctantly admitted that she too, felt the closeness the more personal setting afforded them. It really _was_ family to her, when her son was with them.

"May I be excused, Father?" Ariadne's perfectly measured tone suddenly caught Pasiphae's attention and the Queen briefly turned to look to her stepdaughter. Minos raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Already? It seems as though you have hardly sat down."

Though, when he inspected his daughter's plate, it did appear that she had finished her breakfast and the king had been satisfied that she had taken enough to begin with. This scrutiny, Minos realised, it was a fairly recent habit he had developed, although he had always been protective – some might argue _over_-protective – of his daughter. But in recent weeks, since his stepson's gradual recovery, his wife had taken to monitoring the boy's meals more carefully, starting with ensuring he made it to the table to begin with. It was a custom that he, both as husband and stepfather, had quickly found himself supporting her in. He smiled to himself as he recalled the first few battle of wills between themselves and the young man. It had sometimes required a mixture of gentle persuasion, threats and cunning to achieve their aim, but the boy usually capitulated in the end.

Though getting him to the table had been only half the battle: seeing that he ate enough to satisfy his basic needs was sometimes another challenge in and of itself. It was not that Jason appeared to dislike time spent with the family – indeed, their conversations could be light-hearted, warm and witty, particularly with a fine bottle of wine shared around the family. However, as time wore on there was always _somewhere else_ Jason needed to be, rather than sitting around a table – something he needed to be doing. Minos got the impression that meal-times with his friends were far simpler affairs and over much more quickly. Jason's energy levels were astounding at times though his impatience _did_ help to ensure that he ate enough to satisfy his mother's expectations, in order to be excused from the table as quickly as possible. No, he was a good lad but Minos had built up a certain amount of caution and suspicion over his eating habit and, alas, Ariadne had been caught up in that same suspicion. He just couldn't help himself: if _one_ developed such strange behaviour, who was to say the _other_ one would not also? After all, they did spend more and more time together.

However, this was not the case today. Ariadne smiled at him. "I know and I do miss our conversations. But the people are bringing offerings to the Temple throughout the week and I told Melas I would be there to help with the sanctification."

Minos nodded. "And it does the people good to see their Princess, performing her duties alongside them." Absently, Pasiphae also nodded her agreement, unseen by the others. Though the girl's piety could be somewhat nauseating at times, she represented the family well, amongst the rank and file of Atlantis.

"Very well," the king agreed, leaning to kiss his daughter on the cheek as she rose from the table. "But do not forget your family here," he teased. "I have heard tell that the artists have arrived already." Minos looked to his wife for confirmation – no-one entered or left the Palace without the mistress of the house knowing.

Pasiphae nodded once more. "Indeed. I have sent them to the North Tower to set up their work."

"Splendid."

Ariadne gave a short bow to her parents: "I shall not forget. I shall return as soon as the morning offerings are complete." And then she turned and gracefully swept out of the room as a servant immediately moved in to clear her place away and refresh any plates or cups that were deemed to be wanting.

Once the servants had moved away again, to stand at the walls of the room, Minos turned to his wife: "Speaking of the artists, we must be sure Jason is ready."

The queen took a sip of her drink before carefully replacing it on the table. "I shall speak to him on his return." She paused a moment. "As we have not seen him since yesterday, we can _assume_ he actually stayed in the city." Her tone was still a little frosty on the subject. Jason had assured her that he left of his own volition but, as far as she was concerned, that was not the point. She _entrusted_ her son to these _friends_ of his - to this man, _Hercules_ – when he was not with her. She did not send him out for three days to simply wander aimlessly. Not that he _had_ but that was an entirely different matter to make her seethe.

Minos tore a piece of bread, dipping it in a small bowl of olive oil and herbs. "Is he going to see Aeson afterwards?"

His wife shook her head, a smug smile on her lips. "No. Jason is still too hurt, too angry. It will not last long but, given Aeson's ability to turn his affection on and off at a moment's notice, it will also not be long before he hurts the boy again."

Minos sighed, though he did not appear to disagree with his wife. "It _is_ regrettable for Jason," he admitted. "But it works out well for us. Do you suppose Aeson even knows he is pushing his son away?"

He watched Pasiphae scoff. "Aeson cannot imagine why _anyone_ would not love and dote over him or picture a time when Jason will not blindly follow him and hang off his every word and though I would dearly love to march into that colony and give him a piece of my mind, I shall not dissuade him from his folly. Let Jason see him for the man he is and the sooner we can put that wretched man out of our lives."

Pasiphae paused a moment, tearing a less than lady-like chunk out of her bread. It appeared that when alone with her husband and when discussing her son and her _ex_-husband, her mannerisms could become quite savage.

"Jason _loves_ his father," Minos felt obliged to point out, unsure why he was supporting his rival. "And he usually returns so _happy_ from his visits." Perhaps that was it: very simply, it made the boy happy.

"Oh, perhaps," she muttered, tersely. "But that will only serve Aeson for so long. The Gods _know_ that Jason and I have our fights," she continued, "but I am trying to love him for who he _is _and not the young man I had _imagined_ he would be." Pasiphae stopped and sighed, softly. "I know I must try harder – let him know how proud I am of him, just the way he is."

"I am sure he knows, my love. Though if you wanted to say it again, I do not imagine he will tire of hearing it." A sort of sad pensiveness began to build around the Queen like a dark, permeating cloud as she nodded, silently. To Minos, the darkness only served to make her more beautiful, more open.

"What troubles you?"

Abruptly, the Queen looked up and smiled, a little too quickly. "Nothing, my Lord." Then she saw her husband's canny expression and sighed, sharply. Since when had Minos developed such perception, she wondered begrudgingly. Seeing that he would not let the matter drop until she satisfied his curiosity, Pasiphae relented just a little. "I try and I try with Jason but it appears I am fated to always make the same mistakes: I judge him too harshly, I do not always see his value until he is walking away from me and then I must scramble to show him that I _have_ noticed. But with _you_, he seems far more at ease. You see a side to my son that I do not and I…I _wish_ I could talk to him as you do."

With a sad smile, Minos reached across the table and took his wife's hand, squeezing her fingers gently. "You are a good mother, Pasiphae. Trust that you have a good son and let your love speak for you, let is _see_ for you. You and he are not as distant as you fear, believe me."

Pasiphae quickly returned the pressure on his fingers before carefully releasing him, indicating their moment of intimacy was over. "Thank you," she smiled. "But now we must put such topics to rest. I believe there is a busy day ahead for both of us." Signalling her intentions carefully, the queen turned back to her breakfast, relieved when Minos did the same. Advice from her husband was difficult to hear as the pride prickled in her chest. But, all things considered and for the sake of her son, perhaps on this one occasion, it would not hurt to listen to him?

* * *

Jason grinned as his feet landed with a satisfying squelch into the thick mud on the other side of the wooden fence. The lower half of his trousers were slathered in dark mud and the child in Jason still enjoyed the free abandon of getting thoroughly encased in dirt. Ahead of him, Iphicles waited in the barren field, ploughed of its crops and the soil ready to be turned and the stones dug out. He smiled as he watched the young man leap the fence, ignoring the stile and the more controlled landing that it would have afforded him. Jason caught his knowing eye and ducked his head, bashfully as he trotted over to join him. Jason, Iphicles thought to himself, was certainly an energetic one and no doubt made sure Hercules had to run to keep up with him. As Jason reached him they both turned and waited patiently for Pythagoras to join them. While certainly not unfit in any way, the young mathematician, Iphicles noted, was not in as much of a hurry as Jason and took careful measure to avoid large bogs of mud, where there was an easy route around it. He also made proper use of the stile to ease his landing and in so doing, was far cleaner than his young companion. The blonde boy had a sharp mind, he noted: often, over the last few nights, he had enthused to him not only about his love of triangles – an interest he himself had little opinion on though he knew of plenty of men who shared such love of academia – but also on mathematics, the sciences and the world in general. The large man was not, it had to be said, a particularly educated man but he appreciated it in others and listening to Pythagoras' earnestness had been quietly satisfying.

"Were these fields when you were a boy?" Jason asked, as Pythagoras joined them, casting a withering look at the state of Jason's clothing and the mud he would no doubt traipse through his clean house – unless he took his boots off at the door, which the genius had every intention of making him do.

The three continued trudging along the pathway, towards the other end of the field. "It was forest when I last came here," Iphicles said. He indicated the landscape with a wide sweep of his arm. "From the ridge to the stream, all tall sturdy trees and excellent hunting. You could find many a deer if you ventured out early enough and were light-footed."

Jason snickered. "Did Hercules score on any of those counts?" Pythagoras' eyes widened and he elbowed Jason in the ribs with a quiet hiss of surprise. However, he could not help the guilty smile that spread across his face. With Jason as a co-conspirator it was bloody difficult to avoid being drawn in to his friend's often wicked sense of humour sometimes.

Momentarily worried that he might have offended Iphicles, Jason winced. "Sorry," he apologised. But looking up at their strange guest, Jason breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw the man chuckle. There had been no malice in the lad's jest. Those two boys, he reasoned, clearly loved his brother and his brother was just as devoted to them. If he had not been told differently, Iphicles had half expected Hercules to explain to him that these were his sons not his friends, his wife for some reason, no longer sharing their lives.

Shaking his head, he placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Hercules had a good eye for hunting," he said. "But perhaps he did not see so well in the early morning light. But this soil," he remarked, stooping to scoop a sample up in his hand, "is too good for forestry and the land too flat." He spread his fingers a little, teasing the rich soil through his fingers. "See that colour? Rich and fertile. And the sun," he continued, pointing to where it would have been, had it not been cast behind a pearly cloud of sky, "is in just the right position to give the crops what they need, whilst being sheltered from the worst of the wind by the hills." He looked around him and breathed in deeply. "No, this was a wise move."

They continued on their way down the path, Jason and Pythagoras pausing when they spotted something of interest such as coins or arrowheads, in the churned up earth. Iphicles watched them with a growing indulgence as they showed each other their finds, either pocketing them or else tossing them back into the furrows. "You seem to know a lot about farming," Pythagoras remarked, lightly.

"A fair bit. I own some farms in Athens – vineyards, mostly."

Pythagoras looked anew at him. "I had no idea. I somehow imagined something…different." Though he blushed at the sudden thought that Iphicles might ask him what his first impression _was_. Fortunately, it appeared Iphicles was either not a curious man or not particularly self-obsessed.

The man laughed. "I know a little of the mechanics of it all but I must confess that I have very able men who manage and run the estates for me." Then he paused in their journey and glanced over at Pythagoras, his gaze speculative. "I am in need of someone such as yourself, as it happens. Someone with a good head for figures and an agile mind to handle the accounts of the vineyard in Athens." Pythagoras' eyes widened.

"Me?"

Jason, too stopped and turned to them, a question in his dark eyes. Pythagoras sputtered for a moment, wrestling with the idea. "Work for you? In Athens?" His blue eyes widened as he worried his lower lip. The tall man gave a neutral shrug.

"If you have no interest in Athens and in leaving Atlantis, I would understand. But I thought the city might interest you and the work is not as dull as it might sound. But no matter. The offer is there and I shall leave you to consider or dismiss it as you will." Then Iphicles abruptly turned. "Now let us press on. There is still much to see." And with that, he strode away, his longer legs covering almost twice the span that either Jason or Pythagoras could manage. Jason still stared curiously at Pythagoras as they stayed behind a moment. Catching his intent eye, Pythagoras laughed lightly, blushing.

"That's an interesting offer," Jason began, hoping to draw his friend out into a discussion. But Iphicles was moving further ahead and his blonde friend, clearly embarrassed, merely shook his head, waving off Jason's statement.

"It doesn't matter," he insisted quietly. "Just silly nonsense. Now, we mustn't get too far behind or we'll never catch up." With out another word, Pythagoras set off, following where their guest had led, picking his way around the boggier patches. Jason stood just a moment longer, watching after him, his dark curls blowing in the wind. Pythagoras had clearly felt uncomfortable by the prospect and certainly shocked. But he hadn't exactly said no.

* * *

It was near dark when the three returned, weary and seeped with cold, to the little house. As soon as Pythagoras pushed open the door, the warm, golden glow of the lamps and the crackle of the roaring fire spread out to greet them. All three paused in the open doorway for a moment, soaking up the comforting warmth. The wind had picked up on their journey back, whipping about them and straight through the thin cloaks of the younger two and as they had rounded the corner onto their street, the heavens had finally opened. Pythagoras didn't exactly have much meat on his bones to temper the biting effects but it was not himself that he worried for. As the air had thinned and the journey continued, Pythagoras could not help but cast worried glances over to where Jason tried to unsuccessfully smother cough after cough, finally stopping by the hedgerows, almost doubled over to the point where the young mathematician worried he might retch. Gone were thoughts of the mess his young friend would make of his nice clean house. Instead, all he wanted to do was bundle him next to the fire with a soothing tonic for his chest. Perhaps, if he was careful not to nag too much, he might persuade Jason to get an early night?

"Are you lot going to stand there all night with the wind and rain blowing into every corner of what used to be my warm house?" The sharp rumble from the house suddenly snapped Pythagoras, and indeed all of them, from their basking. With a start, Pythagoras hastily turned and shut the door, leaving the howling wind behind them and mumbling a quiet apology as he did so. Iphicles took off his cloak and hung it by the door, choosing to ignore his brother's irate grumble. Perhaps he was all too used to the bark without the bite, having grown up in the man's company?

Jason quietly prised his muddy boots off and left them by the door. He had grown quieter and quieter on the last leg of their trip and now, it seemed, he was content to just melt into the background entirely. His shoulders slightly hunched and his head bowed, Jason trundled into the house, heading straight to his makeshift sleeping area to fish out a clean set of clothes. They weren't his warmest, unfortunately, but they would have to do. Of course, he had a wonderfully warm, thick, woolen set of clothes at the Palace but the mere thought of wearing those here was out of the question. Having pulled out the only other set of clothes he possessed, Jason glanced apprehensively about the room. Had it been only the three of them, he wouldn't have hesitated to strip off his muddy clothes where he stood, redressing in strategic stages. After his little stint as a dog, there really wasn't much left to his friends' imaginations. But with their guest around, he felt it inappropriate.

"And just what kept you so long? I thought you'd be back hours ago."

Hercules' hard, suspicious voice, coming from right behind him made Jason spin around, immediately setting off another round of coughing. Instantly, the older man narrowed his eyes in concern as Pythagoras came to join them. "Perhaps the lecture can wait, Hercules?" Pythagoras said quietly, not wanting to embarrass Jason. "Jason needs a change of clothes and to warm up first." But his gentle lecture was unnecessary. As soon as the older man had got a good look at the lad, he had formed the same conclusion, narrowing his eyes almost dangerously. Jason, his head bowed from the coughing, missed the gesture but Pythagoras did not. Inwardly, the young genius smirked. Even if Jason tried to resist his ministrations (though looking at him, he wasn't sure his friend would object _too_ much) it looked as though he had Hercules on his side and when the wrestler threw his weight into an argument, Jason stood very little chance of winning.

The man nodded brusquely. He put a hand on Jason's shoulder and began steering him towards his own room. "You can change in my room," he announced. "But don't you get mud everywhere. Honestly, have you been rolling in it?" He didn't give Jason a chance to answer as he bundled him off. Shoving the startled boy into his room, Jason turned to face him before he shut the door, a question on his lips. But once more, Hercules cut him off. "And when you get out of there, Pythagoras will have some disgusting drink for you and you'd better drink all of it or I'll pack you straight off to bed." A frown that morphed into a small scowl, knotted the centre of Jason's forehead as he narrowed his eyes and Hercules slammed the door shut in his face.

"It won't be _disgusting_," Pythagoras muttered, mostly to himself as Hercules had already turned away in a huff. "Honey and lemon is very soothing." But no-one was listening and it was good, he supposed, that he and Hercules were joined in purpose. So he quietly made his way into the kitchen and began heating the water. There was some left-over soup still sitting in an iron pot by the stove and, he surmised, something hot would go down well with_ all_ of them.

Hercules turned to look back at the closed door to his room, frowning when he thought about how long Jason had been trudging about in the cold for, not to mention the company he was in.

"Is Jason alright?"

Iphicles low voice startled him and Hercules turned to face his brother's concerned expression. His eyes narrowed. "He's fine. Nothing for you to worry about."

"He just seems a little unwell…"

"Well don't drag them over hill and dale in the middle of winter for hours on end, and they'll be fine, won't they?" And with that, Hercules turned and stomped over to the kitchen, intent on hovering over Pythagoras' shoulder as he prepared the food and drink, until Iphicles took note of his hostility and moved away.

* * *

When Jason had emerged, clean and dry, from Hercules' room, he had obligingly taken the hot honey and lemon drink (pleased it was actually a pleasant mix) and allowed himself to be led to sit by the fire, a blanket around his shoulders. Eventually, the fire had proved too much and Jason had let the blanket slide to the floor. Since his colour and breathing had much improved, no-one objected. Pythagoras had set next to him, eating a bowl of beef broth which, Jason noted, the others also enjoyed though further away and seated around the table. Hercules, he realised, spent most of his time in between trying to make small talk with his brother, watching Iphicles through suspicious eyes. There was something…odd about his friend's behaviour that night, as though there was something he wanted to say, something he wanted to ask but couldn't bring himself to. Every now and then, Hercules would look up and catch Jason's eye and then give one of his wide, concealing smiles as if Jason were one of the city guards that Hercules routinely tried to evade with charming deception.

Eventually, the two older men had excused themselves and taken themselves off to bed, the weight of the day on their aging bones, finally catching up with them. Pythagoras had gone to clean up the kitchen, immediately dismissing Jason's offer to help. He liked things done a certain way anyway and Jason usually ended up hanging a utensil where it didn't belong. And so, Jason – for whom sleep did not come so easily – found himself sitting at the table, the blanket once more wrapped around his shoulders as the fire had reduced to a warm glow. He glanced up as a shadow fell across him to see Pythagoras watching him with a kind smile.

"I thought you would have gone to sleep yourself." Jason smiled knowingly, causing his young friend to hastily add, "I'm not nagging. I just thought you'd be tired after all the traipsing about." With a gentle sigh, Pythagoras eased himself down onto the wooden bench that Jason had just shuffled along to allow him room. He watched the young man softly shake his head, turning to face him, his face gently lit from the dying fire.

"I wasn't tired," Jason admitted. "Well, my body is but my mind's still awake. Figured I'd just sit here for a while." He indicated his makeshift bed, placed near the hearth. "Not like I have far to go to fall into bed." Pythagoras laughed quietly, in agreement. "What about you?" Jason pressed. "That kitchen was clean about an hour ago, even by your standards." He watched his blonde friend keenly, noting the way Pythagoras suddenly blushed and looked away, as if caught out in a lie. The young genius began unconsciously playing with the hem of his robe. Something in Jason's gut began to turn. "You're thinking about Iphicles' offer, aren't you?" he asked, kindly, trying not to let either his eyes or his voice betray his emotions and stop his friend from opening up to him, when he so clearly needed to. Pythagoras leaving Atlantis seemed almost an impossible scenario to imagine. He loved the city, he was content here.

But then, Jason wondered uneasily, what if he _did_ accept his role at the Palace? What if he _did_ decide to marry Ariadne? He would spend more and more time away. Was it fair to expect his friends to just be waiting here for him? Never moving on with their lives. Never changing. Next to him, Pythagoras finally looked up to him with honest, wrought blue eyes.

"I don't know," he admitted in a frustrated sigh. "On the one hand I can never imagine leaving Atlantis, leaving Hercules. I don't know what he'd do without me sometimes – how he'd keep enough food in the house to last him through winter." Jason grinned, making some of the tension leave his young friend's shoulders as the genius found himself smiling back.

"But on the other hand?" Jason prompted, nudging him gently with his elbow. A knowing, indulgent smile was on his face, despite the pain in his chest and seeing it, Pythagoras reluctantly allowed his own smile to stay a little longer.

"It's _Athens_!" he exclaimed, as if that alone should be all he needed to say. "I have sometimes _dreamed_ of living there. The buildings, the universities, the _thinkers_! They _thrive_ in such a place – they are the heart and soul behind the city. To say the offer is tempting is…" Suddenly, he glanced down in embarrassment, shame creeping over his face. "Listen to me – talking such nonsense. I don't even know why I'm even considering such an offer. It was flattering, nothing more. I could never leave my friends, leave Atlantis. Why would I ever want to?"

_But I might be leaving anyway_, Jason thought grimly. _And Hercules, no matter what he boasts, won't be here for ever. And as for Atlantis_?

Jason sighed and for a moment, bowed his head to his chest, a dozen cold thoughts, trying to drown him, chilling him to the depths. After a moment longer he raised his head to meet Pythagoras' worried expression. "I don't want you to leave," he admitted. "And there are plenty of reasons for you to stay, just as you said. But nothing stays the same forever, no matter how much we want it to. I'm learning that one pretty quickly." He paused and smiled, ruefully, his youthful features suddenly aged and weary. "And you know, though you can't see it now, there are some pretty good reasons for maybe getting out of Atlantis, too. But only you can decide. Just know I'll be behind you, whatever you choose."

Pythagoras' eyes shone brightly for a moment as he listened to his friend's comforting advice. Jason often acted as though he were clueless, naive of the world. But there was a keen intelligence behind those gentle eyes. He wrapped a thin arm around the lad's shoulders. "Thank you, Jason. I shall think about it, though I doubt I shall change my mind." Then he rose to his feet. "But I am tired now and I think I shall go to bed."

"Goodnight," Jason said, smiling as he watched him stretch, cat-like.

"Goodnight," Pythagoras returned. "And though I fear this _may_ be nagging, don't stay up too late." And Jason chuckled softly to himself, nodding his understanding as his friend disappeared into his room.

* * *

That's it for now. Thanks for reading this far. I hope you enjoyed it.


	4. Chapter 4

Five of Swords - Chapter 4

Standard disclaimer applies in that I don't own any of them – the BBC does.

A/N – I'm sorry these chapters have such long delays between them. Life and work are conspiring to beat me into the ground at the moment but I have finally managed to force a little time in there for myself. I hope you enjoy this chapter, for whatever it's worth. Thank you for the reviews to chapter 3 – they all helped to push me on to getting this one, painfully slowly, out! And thank you to _ash_, who I can't thank privately.

Chapter 4

The door shut softly behind him as Jason emerged from his morning's lessons. He slung his bag over his shoulder as he trotted to the tower's narrow, winding staircase. It was almost midday and they would be ringing the gong for lunch soon. Acrion had been pleased with his progress that morning and even the dreaded translations had gone well. Jason smiled to himself as he wound his way back down to the ground floor. Old Acrion, perhaps in deference to Jason's increasing progress or perhaps because he sensed his student's enthusiasm ebbing, had promised him a revised programme of study in the coming months: the thought of a break from the endless reams of History, Law and Politics had an uplifting affect on Jason's outlook. Since Poseideon was upon them, the old man had suggested they look at Greece's many festivals and civic rituals. Jason had been more than happy to agree though he sincerely doubted he would escape Translation, whatever the root of his study.

As he headed into the little courtyard, linking two wings of the Palace together, Jason turned in surprise when he heard his mother's voice coming from behind him. The young man paused, watching Pasiphae emerge from the North Tower, her hair elaborately bound up in its habitual tresses, her expression warm and smiling. "Jason," she called again, now that she had seen him wait for her. He grinned as she reached him, leaning in to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

"Hi," he greeted. He eyed the tower thoughtfully. "What are you doing in the Tower? You're normally terrorising servants in the dining hall by now." He suddenly grinned, impishly. "You're not still checking up on me, are you?" he teased. "I _did_ make it to my lessons this morning." The dark-haired boy held up his leather bag, even as the queen delicately rolled her eyes. "I have the work to prove it."

"Hmm," she remarked, folding her arms across her abdomen, amusement softening her frown. "But not to _breakfast_, I might point out." Jason's smile slipped a little and he glanced guiltily at the ground, prepared for another lecture.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I woke up late and I didn't want to be late for Acrion." Still looking at his feet, he heard his mother sigh softly. She had begun to hope they were past this evasiveness and that she could now trust him to make a regular appearance at the dining table. Perhaps she had been too quick in her assessment? Still, it was not the matter she had sought him out for.

"See that you find your way to the midday meal," Pasiphae instructed gently and Jason glanced up in surprise, sure he had been in for a more scathing response than that. Seeing his surprise and enjoying being able to temporarily silence her increasingly quick-tongued son, Pasiphae allowed herself a careful smile, just creasing the corners of her otherwise schooled face. "I did not seek you out for remonstration or to check on your learning." She watched as a sigh of relief escaped her son and batted him lightly in the middle of his chest.

"Let us continue inside," she announced. "This is not the weather to be standing about in." Since his illness, she had noted a sharp, alarming cough that still came over her son when the cold temperatures seeped into his lungs. The queen had hoped that, given time, good food and plenty of soothing warm drinks, the symptoms would ease but it did not seem to be the case. Several times she had glanced out of a casement to see Jason almost doubled over with the exertion to breathe properly after returning from an outing in the cold. Her strong, beautiful boy should not be hindered by any illness, especially one whose cause they had already rooted out months ago. _Why_ was the boy so susceptible to every common illness known to man? It baffled her sometimes. Jason had never been a _weak_ child so why was the young man so? With steely grit, Pasiphae reasoned that another visit to the physicians may well be in order whether her stubborn, headstrong son agreed with her assessment or not. It was either that, she decided, or Jason simply did not venture out into the dropping temperatures in the first place and she was relatively confident which of the two evils the boy would prefer.

The two walked silently into the warmth of the Palace, where burning torches on the wall immediately radiated out their heat. Unconsciously, Jason relaxed some of his aching muscles when he felt them gently touched by it. Pasiphae led them both to sit on a small window seat, beneath the flickering flames of a torch. "So what did you want to talk to me about?" Jason wondered, relieved now that the prospect of a well-meaning lecture on his eating habits was safely past.

Pasiphae smiled and placed a hand on his arm. "The Poseideon marks the start of a tradition, long-standing in our family." Something flashed across the queen's eyes for just a moment – something distant and Jason briefly wondered what it might be. It was also unlike her to use the word _family_ so freely. Curious, Jason raised his eyebrows in a silent prompt for her to continue.

"A portrait," Pasiphae supplied. "Painted every five years onto a wall in one of the private rooms for the family, within the North Tower. We always begin after the Haloea." She watched the uncertainty wash across her son's face and shook her head with a fond laugh. "Do not worry – the painting itself may take over a month to complete but the amount of time we shall be required to sit for will not nearly amount to so much. I would not ask you to be so still for so long," she teased. "I recognise a losing battle before I begin one."

Removing her hand from his arm, she moved it to quickly pat his leg. "They have begun the background already – that is what I was checking on when I saw you leave the Tower. But we must briefly meet with the artisans tomorrow to discuss the arrangements. I shall make sure it is at a time when you can attend."

Aware suddenly of pressing matters she had yet to attend to, Pasiphae made to leave but suddenly paused. Intent as she had been on explaining their custom, the queen regarded her son thoughtfully when she realised she had not actually given the boy a chance to respond. "Jason?" she asked, sitting back down next to him. "Is this alright? I promise I shall make it as convenient as possible. You shall not be asked to miss your days with your friends." Though if that situation _did_ arise, she hoped she and the boy could come to some kind of an arrangement and that he would not argue _too_ stubbornly. Gently, Pasiphae took Jason's fingers in her hand and gave them a light, reassuring squeeze. It startled her then, when she felt her son carefully pull his hand from her touch, already inching back from her on the seat.

"I can't," Jason began, earnestly, shaking his head.

Forcing herself not to reach out and touch him again when he clearly wished for his space, Pasiphae neatly folded her hands in her lap, noting for the first time the way her son's expression had become both nervous and torn. Her stomach muscles began to clench, uncomfortably. "Jason? Is something wrong?" She willed her voice to remain calm. It had to be a misunderstanding that they could quickly clear up. That was all.

But Jason still shook his head, his expression anxious. It belied something else, she realised suddenly. Something that had the lad unsettled. "I can't do this portrait," Jason insisted vehemently, panic underlying his tone. "I'm sorry but it's just not going to happen. I'm not a part of all this." He didn't see the way his mother flinched as he gestured around them both. "I don't belong on that wall and besides, I don't know what might happen in the future and then you might have to take me _off_ it and…" He trailed off, standing up and folding his arms tightly across his chest, head bowed. Pasiphae remained seated, looking up at him in growing confusion and alarm. Jason sighed sharply. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "But don't you see? If I'm there, on that wall, forever, it's…_permanent_. And people might see. Not just _us_, but _other_ people. They'd know." Jason stared down at the queen with wide, imploring eyes. "You're just going to have to do it without me." He turned away from her, muttering as he did so: "It's not like it'll make a difference – there's still plenty of people."

And with that, Jason hurried away from Pasiphae and her loaded requests that tried to fix him to a path that he didn't even know how long he would be travelling _on_. God – his future was the one thing Jason steadfastly tried his hardest not to dwell on. The choice he thought he would immediately dismiss had, over the last few months, grown steadily more familiar and comfortable. His life with his friends still called to him like a siren song, even if Pythagoras made a new life in Athens. Maybe he could go too? The thought had occurred to him. Make a break, take off, leave Atlantis and all its worries behind. Hercules could be persuaded to come with them. But what of Ariadne? Jason knew, in his heart, that she would never leave her city. Her people. Not even for him. Already, Jason's heart twisted as panic gripped him and his head swam.

He had to get out of the Palace for a while – get some air, clear his head. The city, strangely, felt too daunting a prospect as the walls closed in around him. Too many people, too many conflicting associations. But the gardens would do nicely. He would wander, losing himself amongst their paths and orchards and towering trees for hours, until the exposing light of day gave way to the comforting shroud of darkness.

Pasiphae's voice, quiet and low, stopped him before he moved out of her sight, however.

"Jason. It…it would make a difference to me."

Jason half turned to look back at her. She was still seated on the bench, looking after him with an expression he found difficult to read. Mentally, he sighed. Pasiphae did not take well to being refused, he reasoned, but eventually, his mother would get over it. Giving her a sad, half smile, he turned back around with a heavy swing of his head and continued on his way.

* * *

Jason had been nestled in the curved u-shaped base of a birch tree, his back and legs snugly fitting into the tree's secure hold, when the first rumble of thunder echoed across the land. Not especially concerned, he glanced up at what sky he could see through the tree's thinning canopy and the other fauna around him, buried as he was, deep within the small woodland surrounding the Palace gardens. In some surprise, he noted how quickly the dark clouds had blanketed the sky. Although he knew, as he had idled his way through the gardens, that time _had_ been pressing on, Jason was still a little shocked at how long he had been wandering. He pulled his tunic closer about himself as he shivered.

Another rumble, this one louder, cracking the sky in two. Jason reached down to the leafy ground beneath and withdrew his leather bag. If the heavens should open, he didn't want to risk the scrolls inside being damaged. Instead, Jason hugged the leather to his chest, feeling a little warmer for doing so and closed his eyes against the approaching storm, leaning his head back against the gnarled bark. The storm in his own heart had slowly, over time spent distancing himself from his thoughts, abated until only a firm resolve remained: he truly _had_ begun to love his family – all of them. But asking him to stand with them and be counted…that was something it wasn't fair of them to ask. Not yet.

The first fat drops of rain began to fall, lightly at first, just pattering over the treetops. Soon, however, they came in faster downpours, falling in straight, translucent sheets all around him and hammering, with a gentle roar, against the woodland floor. Jason sighed as the rain pelted his head, dripping down his face and along the back of his neck. 'She'll know I'm outside somewhere,' he thought with a mental sigh. 'If I get soaked through, she'll never let me hear the end of it.' And so, with a heavy exhale, Jason climbed out of his low-lying nest and stretched the kinks out of his back, having been curved for so long. A crack of thunder rumbled across the Earth, followed quickly by a flash of lightning that lit the sky. Jason glanced up at the sky and smiled. The idea that the lightning might pose a threat to him, never really settled in Jason's mind. He'd always found the powerful energy of storms to be somewhat exhilarating. With a soft laugh, Jason looked down at his tunic and ruefully admitted to himself that he was indeed thoroughly soaked through already, the fabric clinging heavily to every inch of skin. Oh well. No point in hurrying back now – the damage was done.

He slung his bag over one shoulder, checking the straps were as securely fastened as they could be and that the scrolls inside would not get wet. Acrion would be less than impressed, Jason knew, if he were to bring only a soggy pulp of parchment to his next lesson. Then he leisurely retraced his path through the winding trees, semi-sheltered by the overhanging branches, until the grandiose of the Palace once more rose into sight as he emerged from the tree line. He watched, with some measure of sympathy, the frantic dash of those servants carrying baskets and trays of various contents from the vegetable gardens to the kitchens, and others whose jobs necessitated them being out of doors. Some had managed to throw cloaks over their heads, but the unfortunate few who had been caught unaware, simply had to run faster.

The sky was once more rent in two by a crack of thunder that seemed to explode behind him. It made him jump, his heart hammering in his chest but it was the following crash, a second later, so loud he would swear it had been a bomb exploding that made him stumble forwards a step. Something struck him on the back – several _somethings_ though they did not seem to harm him. As the sky had lit up with jagged streaks of lightning, from further away near the Palace kitchens, Jason heard high-pitched, startled screams. He spun around to the sound of the crack. A giant oak, some feet behind him, smouldered in the driving rain. He couldn't be sure if he could see the glow of flames or not as the rain beat down in-front of his eyes. It looked as if a deep crack now ran the length of the tree's trunk, dividing it neatly down the middle. Huge chunks of bark were scattered around the base of it. Jason felt, for the first time, a chill run down his spine. His ears still echoed with the deafening explosion and the young man picked up his pace as the thunder rang out once more, the light quickly flashing across the darkened sky.

Reaching the kitchen door, Jason darted through to a few surprised looks from the maids and cooks, shutting it heavily behind him.

"Are you alright, my Lord?" The cook, a kind, matronly woman asked, stepping forwards as Jason leaned against the door. She did not much like the shade of his skin, nor the way his arms seemed to tremble. Jason swallowed, reflexively and turned to her.

"Yes," he muttered, eyes already darting around her and to his exit. "I'm fine, thanks." Before she could question him further or press any food or drink into his hand, Jason nipped around her and quickly left the kitchens behind, seeking out the back staircase that would lead him up to the wing of the family where their bedrooms and private chambers were housed. It was technically meant for the lower servants – a discrete entry and exit from the main staircase – but Jason didn't mind and didn't much care about any scolding he might receive on his lack of propriety, should either the king or queen catch him. He shivered again as he emerged from the top of the staircase into the family's corridor, his whole body shaking. Leaning against the wall for a moment, Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling slightly nauseous. The ringing in his ears was finally dimming down.

"Jason?"

He looked up with a startled jump, taking a moment longer than usual to recognise the king's deep voice. "Your Majesty," he replied automatically, glad that his brain and mouth appeared to be functioning on a fairly normal level, despite his thudding pulse and the tightening in his chest. Minos drew level with him from where he approached further down the corridor. A sheaf of papers was in one hand, tied carefully around with twine. They looked official, if the seals were anything to go by. But Minos did not make mention of them. Instead, he reached out his other hand and gently but firmly, placed it around Jason's upper arm.

The king looked at his stepson, intently. "Jason?" he asked again, taking in the drenched and shivering sight of him. "Are you alright? Your mother could not find you within the Palace walls and said you were therefore likely outside today. I take it you were caught in the storm?" He could feel the arm trembling with minute vibrations beneath his touch.

Jason blinked at him before finally nodding. "Yes Sire. But I came in as soon as it all started." 'Deep breaths,' Jason silently commanded himself. 'Take deep breaths and pull yourself together.' Minos let his hand drop and took a step back, measuring the boy up with the length of his stare. Jason could not help but feel as though his explanation had not met with the king's approval. The man's eyes were hard and suspicious.

"In any event," Minos remarked. "You clearly need a change of clothes and to spend a fair amount of time warming by a fire."

Jason gave a half nod, though he made no comment on the advice. Or had it been an order? It was hard to tell with Minos. Instead he asked: "Were you looking for me, Your Majesty?" That in itself was a little unusual – Minos normally sent a servant to find him if he requested his presence – or else his mother. Minos nodded though he had already begun to walk, forcing Jason to follow him.

"I was – to ask for your help in a matter involving these petitions." He briefly held up the papers in his hand. "But all of that can wait until you are settled." The king abruptly stopped walking, causing Jason to almost stumble into him. It took a moment longer for Jason to realise that they were standing outside his own bedroom. Without a word of invitation, the king opened the door and peered inside.

"Ah," he remarked. "Good. The fire has been lit. I shall leave you to dry out and to change and then when you are ready I should like to speak with you before dinner." Numbly, his mind still a few seconds behind the conversation, Jason nodded once more, pausing in the doorway.

A clattering of footsteps approaching from the main staircase suddenly drew their attention to the side. Minos and Jason watched as the Captain of the Guards – a reasonably adept man in his late forties, who said very little unless it was needed - approached, his expression calm but obviously intent on conveying news. Minos stepped forwards. "Captain?" he asked.

"Your Highness." The man bowed his head, one hand on his chest as he stopped in-front of the king. "We have had reports of lightning striking something within the Palace grounds and possible smoke rising. The Palace itself seems in tact but I will send men out to patrol the out-buildings. If there is a fire, the chances are the rain will see to it but the men will be sure of it nonetheless."

Though the king did not appear especially alarmed, he gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Very good, Captain. I will admit that I did wonder when I heard the crash. See that none have been injured and besides your men on patrol, keep all others inside. This storm does not show signs of letting up." As if to prove the king's words, another crash rumbled through the Palace walls.

"It was just a tree."

Jason's quiet voice almost startled Minos, who had temporarily forgotten the boy was still there. He was just on the verge of ordering the lad into his room straight away when Minos paused, Jason's words registering through his busy thoughts.

"What did you say?"

"It was just a tree," Jason repeated. "The old oak, by the entrance to the woodland at the east side of the gardens. It's split down the middle but I don't think it's burning and any way, the rain was so heavy, it wouldn't last long." For a moment, Minos did not reply, though his eyes twitched in the corners. Jason felt again the tightness stretch across his chest as Minos sharply turned back to the guard.

"Captain – go and see to this at once."

With a short bow, the man left as instructed, striding down the corridor with large, purposeful steps. As soon as he had turned down the staircase, Minos rounded on Jason, gripping him once more around the top of his arm, but this time not so gently. "You were in the woods during this storm?" he demanded, incredulously. He gave the boy a firm shake, his eyes wide with worry. "You were there when it happened?"

Jason gulped, licking his dry lips as Minos' eyes grew even darker. "I left as soon as it started," Jason protested though his voice was not as strong as he would have liked and for some awful, humiliating reason, he felt his breath tremble and his eyes well up, entirely without his permission. What the hell was _wrong _with him?

"Are you injured?" Minos asked. He still had not released Jason's arm, gripping it even more tightly though it was unclear if he was aware of it or not. Jason shook his head, dismayed to feel his breathing hitch.

"It was behind me. I was well clear of it."

His stepfather narrowed his eyes. Abruptly he used his grip on Jason's arm to roughly spin the boy around eliciting a startled intake of breath from Jason. He felt the king reach for something on his back and then in his hair, gently pulling something out. Then he felt that same hand running lightly up and down his spine, assessing, probing, he presumed for injuries. When Minos turned him back around again to face him, his expression was stony, his eyes haunted. In his hand, he held up the large chunks of bark that had embedded themselves into the folds of Jason's clothes and into his matted hair. Not having realised they were there, Jason only stared dumbly at the evidence.

"Not _so_ clear of it, it would seem," Minos remarked, darkly. Then he sighed sharply and released Jason's arm. The boy fought the urge to rub at it. "Have you _no_ common sense?" Jason looked down to his feet. His arms wrapped themselves around his body – a comforting gesture that Minos usually disapproved of, though today he made no mention of it. Suddenly, the king sighed more gently and in calmer tones he instructed: "What matters is that you are safe. We must thank the Gods for sparing you. Had you been but a few feet behind…" He trailed off, unable to make himself finish the sentence. Shaking his head, Minos gently propelled Jason into his bedroom, stepping in after him, to stand at the threshold.

Looking at the boy now, he saw how pale and silent he was – how his trembling had not lessened, how he breathed in short gasps. "Sit down, Jason," he commanded softly. For a moment, he thought the boy hadn't heard him but after a short while he saw him move clumsily to sink down on his bed. Jason bent his head down to his chest, sitting very, very still. With awkward intent, Minos carefully approached the boy and placed a light hand on his shoulder. Jason did not look up. It seemed to Minos that he was suddenly drained of all energy as though a stopper had been pulled out of him.

"I shall send servants to your room with hot water for washing and then I shall speak to your mother. She will see you right." He patted the lad on the shoulder before stepping back from him. Weakly, aware that he had to make a response, Jason lifted his head just long enough to bring it back down again in a single nod. It seemed to satisfy Minos, however. Though as the King turned to leave, he noted the way Jason still sat, unmoving, shivering. It felt somehow wrong to simply leave him like this even in the time it would take to summon a servant to see to Jason's immediate needs. And so Minos took up the blanket, folded down at the bottom of Jason's bed. The boy was unresponsive to the movement, so much so that when Minos half lifted one corner of him, to pull the blanket free, Jason did not utter so much as an acknowledgement.

The only thing Jason was aware of was that it was some time later when he realised that king had gone, that he was still seated at the end of his bed and that he now had a blanket snugly wrapped around his shoulders, securing and warming him.

* * *

Pythagoras listened to the rain against the roof and sighed. The house used to feel more cosy with a nice fire burning and the rain outside. The three of them would sit around the fire, listening to one of Hercules' stories, sharing a cup of warmed wine, teasing one another with loving good humour. But lately, the enclosed space seemed more like a cage. Sharing any space with Hercules and his brother always set his nerves on edge. When alone with Iphicles, Pythagoras could idle or chat away his time, quite happily. But the two brothers together, even when being cordial, always crackled with tension. Fortunately, though the storm forced them all inside and made escape to the balcony impossible, Iphicles had insisted on cooking the evening meal and was currently moving about the kitchen with surprising confidence. Pythagoras turned from his seat at the table, to put another log on the fire. The light from the lamps was still good enough to work on his triangles but if his fingers grew any number, he would no longer be able to hold his stylus.

Turning back to his work, Pythagoras glanced up as a large shadow fell across his parchment. Hercules sat down next to him without preamble, plonking his cup down onto the table. Immediately, Pythagoras scrambled to move his work out of the way, frowning at his old friend though the expression went unnoticed. "Did you have a nice nap?" Pythagoras asked, a little testily, checking his work for any ring stains.

"Not a nap – just a moment of quiet contemplation."

"While snoring loudly."

"That was the wind." Hercules ignored the way his friend rolled his eyes and instead glanced over his shoulder to the kitchen. "Looks like he's cooking up enough to feed an army in there."

"Hmm," Pythagoras absently agreed, mind already half turning back to his triangles. "I imagine it will not go to waste." For a moment, an idea struck the young genius and he hastily crossed something out on his page and jotted down a long series of equations.

Hercules silently watched him work, baffled yet secretly impressed. It surely must make sense to _somebody_ outside of Atlantis? Someone in _Athens_, perhaps? Hercules immediately felt his mood darken. His brother had mentioned in passing, his offer to Pythagoras and it had immediately made his blood boil. He had no right – no right whatsoever – swooping in and disrupting their perfectly ordered and comfortable lives. The sooner his ship sailed, the better. Though the storm currently raging above their heads did not promise a departure any time soon. But as Pythagoras had not brought the topic of the job offer up, Hercules didn't mention it. The less they spoke about it, the less opportunity he gave Pythagoras to mull it over. Not that he thought his young friend would ever seriously consider leaving them – he loved his friends, loved his city too much. He'd be swallowed up in a big, bustling place like Athens – taken advantage of. But still, the wrestler had to admit that the job would be more interesting to the young man than the occasional guard duty they sometimes procured here. And he would have plenty of time to work on his blasted triangles and discuss his ideas with people who actually gave a damn. The offer _had_ to be just a _little_ bit tempting.

"You know, Hercules?" Pythagoras suddenly said, looking up from his work, a quizzical expression on his face. "I was taking a stroll with Iphicles this morning, before the storm brew up, and he was talking about his memories of what the city used to be like. I never realised how much he loves this city- how proud he is of it." He paused, watching the bigger man carefully. Hercules' mouth had set in a firm line and the hint of worry creased his eyes. "It made me wonder," Pythagoras ventured quietly, "why he left in the first place, if he loves it so."

For a moment, the young mathematician didn't think his friend was going to answer him. Hercules glanced away, looking quickly to where Iphicles still chopped vegetables and then back down to the table top. His fingers wound themselves around the wine cup, pressing tightly. Seeing the unease it caused, Pythagoras began to feel a little guilty for asking in the first place. But his curiosity was such that he couldn't quite bring himself to take the question back. Instead he tried to wait as patiently as he could, hoping Hercules would answer. And he did, eventually, leaning in to him and speaking in a low, quiet voice.

"Iphicles was a firm supporter of the old king, of Aeson. He never held with Minos – he hates him with a passion." Pythagoras raised his eyebrows. He had grown up with Minos on the throne but he knew of a few old timers would occasionally grumble or reminisce on the old days. But never with any real malice or venom. They were just too far removed from the usurpation for passionate feelings still to be flowing. From what Pythagoras could understand, one king was very much like another.

Hercules again checked the subject of their conversation could not hear them before continuing. "I told you he was a guard? Well he was a Royal Guard in Aeson's household. He worked closely with the king – one of his personal guards."

"Well then," Pythagoras exclaimed, eyes widening. "Perhaps Jason should know? He might have stories he could tell him about the old days? From what Jason tells me, I don't think Aeson likes to dwell on his Royal past and Pasiphae certainly never mentions it, I'm sure. And I'm also sure Iphicles would like to know that Jason is the son of the man he once served."

But Hercules shook his head so forcefully, Pythagoras was afraid he might pull a muscle in his neck or dislodge a bone. "Absolutely not!" He insisted, vehemently. "Iphicles is not what you would call… _rational_ about this matter. He's almost fanatical. If he found out who Jason is he'd launch a bloody crusade to turf Minos out and put the boy on the throne, whether Jason wanted that or not. Either that, or he'd try to put Aeson back on the throne if he found out he was still alive. And that would put Jason in danger. He'd rally half the city into marching behind him." Hercules' expression darkened grimly. "Trust me. He's got a way with words – a way of stirring folks up. He'd cause nothing but trouble, for all of us. Let's just keep our heads down until he's on his way."

He fixed his young friend with a deadly serious stare but it did not take much persuasion for Pythagoras to nod his earnest agreement. Jason had only just begun this path. To be pressured into it by someone else – into taking the throne right now or seeing his father pulled once more into the light and the world he had left behind – would be more than he could handle. No, Iphicles must not learn the truth. But, he considered, despite his fervour and his misguided intentions, the man's loyalty was touching. It was, Pythagoras considered, honourable. Could he bring himself to work for such a man? One who would leave the city he loved in honour of the king he served? Outwardly, Pythagoras let their conversation rest, as he turned his attention back to his triangles but inwardly, he realised that he could.

* * *

The next time Minos visited Jason's room several long hours had passed. He entered to find the young man sitting up in bed, swathed in blankets, now pooled around his waist and with a tray of dinner of a warm, rich beef stew and bread resting on his lap. Pasiphae had, Minos knew, not long since seen it delivered and would not be far away, intent as she would be on its later inspection. She had only left to take her own meal in her apartments – having missed dinner with Minos and Ariadne - and to give the king the privacy he requested of her, to speak to her son. The boy looked, he was glad to note, a much healthier colour, was clean and dry and had mercifully stopped his trembling. He looked tired though – very tired and the occasional cough made him wince, though he tried his best to smother each one before it could bubble up from his chest. Near to Jason's small desk, the fire crackled and popped, sending the occasional log tumbling to the bottom of the pile. It was well stoked by a servant who regularly came and went and that was just as well for the rain still lashed against the window shutters and the wind howled and moaned furiously outside.

Jason smiled shyly at him when he saw who his visitor was. Perhaps, Minos wondered, he was still a little embarrassed at the earlier scolding? The king felt a touch of guilt for how harshly he had reacted earlier but it had all been borne from worry and not anger. Hopefully, Jason would realise that.

"I am glad to see you looking better," Minos remarked as he approached. "Though I shall not delay your meal for long. However, once you have finished eating, I do believe your mother wishes for you to try to sleep so I thought it best have my talk with you while I still can."

Jason grimaced at the news though he had rather expected that an early bedtime was on the cards. "I thought as much," he remarked with a sigh. "My mother's already said I'm not to leave this bed until morning when the doctor comes back to give me _more_ gunk to rub on my chest." His face twisted for a moment. Then he turned wide, imploring eyes on the king. "Could you talk to her?"

Minos raised an eyebrow, pausing as he made to sit in the chair stationed by the head of Jason's bed. "To what end? To take your part?" He straightened, folded his arms and treated Jason to a firmly pointed look. "It will do you little good as I happen to agree with her."

Glancing about, as if to check she was not within ear shot, Jason leaned in to Minos, saying in a low, incredulous voice: "I think she's going to post a _guard_ outside my door to make sure I don't get up!"

"I _know_ she's going to post a guard outside your door," Minos countered smoothly, his lips twitching as he saw the boy's mouth hang open. "After your performance during the Games last month, can you really blame her?"

Closing his mouth and sighing heavily, Jason shook his head. "No," he admitted, with the faintest of grumbles.

As Minos lowered himself onto the chair, he looked more gently at his stepson. "She has been very worried, you know. It can do no real harm to rest for a few more hours, can it?"

Jason lowered his eyes to his dinner tray, guilt weaving his way into his chest. "No. No it can't." He _knew_ his mother had been worried. Since their earlier disagreement, he had been dreading her arrival, when the king had informed him he would be telling her. More so as it pertained to his health and in particular, to his exposure to the cold: a lecture that he had been on the receiving end of more than once. As Jason had waited in sheer trepidation for the queen to sweep into his chambers in a blaze of fury, his disorientated mind conjured up all manner of frightful images.

Yet when his door had gently opened and his mother had indeed swept into the room, far from the slap he had been expecting, or even a harsh word or an arched, impatient eyebrow Pasiphae had simply sat next to him on the bed and cupped his pale face between her hands, leaning forwards to kiss his brow and to whisper that everything was now alright. And it had been. She had left while he bathed with the warm water the servants had filled his bath with but returned later on to see him bundled into bed.

Even when his wits returned and Pasiphae had felt he was able to listen to a mild reprimand for his unwise choices, Jason had felt only her worry and her love. The two sides of Pasiphae merged seamlessly for him. She left no room for argument when she summoned the doctor to examine him, made it painfully clear that every last drop of the tonic would be drunk and every scoop of poultice applied to his chest and when Jason had asked when he might be allowed out of bed, he was left with no illusions that if he so much as put a _toe_ out of bed without permission, that toe would be returned to him at a later date. And yet, when the doctor had gone, this same woman had sat next to him at the head of the bed, her legs stretched out in-front of her and had pulled Jason to rest against her side in a one-armed embrace. Jason had felt warm next to her, safe and she had spoken softly to him, telling him tales of the constellations, running her fingers through his mop of hair until Jason had ended up lightly dozing against her.

After a moment Jason looked back up to Minos to find the king watching him with a mixture of concern and amusement and felt abruptly embarrassed. "So, uh. What did you want to talk to me about, Your Highness?" He swallowed down another sharp cough, eyes watering from the effort.

From the folds of his robes, Minos pulled out the same rolls of documents that he had been carrying earlier and placed them on the bed, next to Jason's tray. "These are petitions from the people to the law court," he explained. Jason eyed them curiously. He was vaguely aware that Minos presided over minor disputes that arose amongst the citizens of Atlantis, usually at the end of each month. A neighbour of theirs had once lodged a petition to have their case heard in the court – something a pack of stray dogs keeping them awake at night. None of them had been surprised when each month passed by and their case was never called. But though he knew of the process, Jason had never enquired about the mechanics of it.

"What can I help with?" Jason wondered. He was still trying to get his head around Atlantean Law and Politics and doubted he would be any good whatsoever in a court room. Acrion would no doubt agree with him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Minos smiled. "The next time I shall hear cases will be the day before the Haloea at the end of the month. After this, we break for a time for the Solstice and it shall be some months before the court reopens for anything other than the most serious of cases. And those are usually brought directly before me in the Palace." Jason nodded, not adding that he knew that only too well from personal experience. "I should like, therefore, to hear only the most urgent of cases in this last session. I do not wish to leave unresolved an issue that will grow and fester and cause undue tension in the coming months." Minos shook his head, regretfully. "Unfortunately, in these inhospitable climes, patience dwindles and the people are more quick to temper."

Jason nodded his understanding. "So," he ventured, hesitantly, "did you want me to look at them?"

"Indeed. I am sure you will understand the grievances on a more…personal level than I should. I would like you to read through the petitions and suggest an order of what should be dealt with first." The king rolled his eyes. "There are some of a clearly _less_ urgent nature than others but I trust you to know what will cause the most upset amongst the people."

Jason took a deep breath and Minos watched him carefully. "Does this seem acceptable? You know you may always ask my advice if you need it and your mother has a head for such matters, too." But Jason gave a small smile.

"No, it's fine. I don't mind. I just hope I do it right. When do you need the list by?" Jason immediately felt better, despite his lingering apprehension when he saw the relief and, perhaps also the pride, in Minos' manner. The king leaned back and smiled briefly as he stood.

"In just under two week's time I shall send out men to inform the relevant parties to prepare to be heard. Bring me your answers within a week and we shall proceed from there." Then Minos gathered up the papers and crossed the room to place them on the desk. Jason watched him go with a frown. He had been hoping to start leafing through them, curious as to what his new job entailed. The king just looked at him knowingly.

"Now, I believe you have a meal to finish and then a long night of sleep and I shall not be the one who keeps you from it." He touched the papers lightly. "These can wait until tomorrow."

Jason glanced away with a quiet sigh and a rueful smile. "Yes, Your Highness." And when it appeared that Minos still waited for some further sign from him, Jason took up his spoon again to the king's apparent satisfaction. Besides, Pasiphae would be back soon and it wasn't worth his life to delay any longer.

"Thank you for your help, Jason. I shall see you in the morning." With that, Minos left, leaving Jason to distractedly graze at his dinner before his mother's inevitable inspection.

* * *

That's it for now. I hope you enjoyed it and that you're also enjoying the new series.


	5. Chapter 5

Standard disclaimer still applies…

There aren't apologies enough for how long this chapter has taken but I _am_ sorry. I'm struggling with this story but I have no intentions of giving it up, no matter how long and painful a process it might be! Your encouraging pms and reviews have really helped to spur me on and keep me motivated for the next chapter so thank you SO much for your support and nagging. Thank you also to _Ash_ for the extra encouragement and to _Moira, Little13Silence _ and my _Guest_ who I can't thank personally. I really hope this chapter doesn't disappoint and that you enjoy it.

Chapter 5

"Jason! Wait a moment."

Jason quickly turned at the sound of the welcome, soft voice. From further down the corridor, Ariadne hurried towards him, a welcoming smile brightening her face. When she reached him, Jason slipped her hand into his and leaned down to peck her lightly on the lips. Despite its chaste nature, he still smiled at the spark that ran through his lips. Small, innocent signs of affection between them were gradually becoming less frowned upon by Minos and therefore more frequent between them. Often in the evenings they would sit with each other in the family's private chambers, Ariadne leaning back comfortably against his chest as they talked or played a game, quietly laughing. Sometimes either Minos or Pasiphae was present, usually occupying their time between them somehow; sometimes they were alone. Provided they met in the family apartments and drawing rooms, Minos did not appear to mind and Pasiphae had always been their silent supporter. But Jason knew; until he made a resolute decision at the end of his year, until he chose the path of kingship with Ariadne as his future queen or at the very least agreed to continue living at the palace, no matter how much the king may approve of their union or genuinely wish them both all the happiness in the world, their courtship would remain unofficial and strictly innocent. The prevailing relationship between the princess and him would be that of stepbrother and sister until such time as Jason was ready to make his final choice. It was just one more dilemma to keep him awake at night.

"Morning," he greeted her, shooting the princess his shy, crooked smile, his head cocked to one side as he drank in the sight of her, bathed as she was in the early morning light that shone through the casements in colours of fresh, bright gold.

Ariadne smiled up at him, playing gently with the fingers that still held her own. "I see you are making it to breakfast today," she teased, raising a well-shaped eyebrow. "They _will_ be pleased."

Jason rolled his eyes. "When I woke up this morning, after I'd fended off the doctor's visit, there was a guard about three times the size of me, waiting outside my room. And I don't think he was lost, either. I don't know his name but he's the one that just grunts and cracks his knuckles. I figured I'd be on time today."

Ariadne laughed. "I see Pasiphae is losing some of her subtlety." Pausing, she looked up at him with a wicked glint. "Although I must admit that you do not always pick up on subtle gestures." She laughed again when Jason squeezed her fingers and narrowed his eyes at her.

"Not you, too," he grumbled, in mock-hurt. He slowly resumed their journey to the dining hall and Ariadne easily fell in step beside him, their hands still joined, fingers interlaced and gently swinging. "I was hoping to see you last night," Jason remarked, glancing sideways at her as they strolled along. "Not that I don't love your father of course." He heard her sigh regretfully.

"I am sorry. I wanted to – truly. But by the time I had finished my meal and Father had spoken with you, Pasiphae said you were sleeping when I asked to visit." Jason frowned. Trust his mother to deny him the visitor he most wanted to see. Though the edict to keep away from each other's bedrooms still stood, the conditions had been relaxed to allow them to visit each other while convalescing. Not that Jason had much cause to visit Ariadne in such instances but his parents had apparently surmised that with the frequency of Jason's illnesses and injuries, the two young royals would never see each other unless compromises and allowances were made. He rolled his eyes again.

"I wasn't asleep. Pasiphae put the lamps out almost as soon as she came back for the dinner tray. It was _hours_ before everyone else turned in." And Jason found that he rather enjoyed sharing a conspiratorial moan with a sympathetic listener so he didn't mention that he had, in actuality, slept like a log once his mother had gone.

"Well," the girl reluctantly admitted, "I cannot begrudge Pasiphae her worry _too_ deeply." She paused and turned to look up at him with earnest, wide eyes. "I gave thanks to the Gods last night that you were spared. Had you fallen behind for only a moment…"

"But I'm _fine_," Jason insisted calmly, placing a warm hand on her cheek. "It was no-where near me." He grinned at her, removing his hand from her face and placing it around her slender arm. "Trust me."

Ruefully, she found herself smiling back, though it had been her intention to convey how just how seriously she regarded the near accident. However, once again it seemed, Jason had a way of disarming her. "I do," she admitted. "I just would have liked to see for myself."

"Well," he announced, once more resuming their journey and reaching the staircase, "you can see now. Not a hair out of place." Surprisingly, once he had reapplied the gloop of the doctor's onto his chest, he had been coughing far less too. It was a welcome relief, even if he could still taste the foul tonic the doctor had pressed on him that morning. He wasn't sure what purpose it was to achieve, other than to get his mother off his back. Which, thinking about it, was a worthy cause indeed.

They descended the main staircase to the grand entrance hall in silence, instinctively releasing one another's hands once they emerged into more public, crowded areas as servants hustled and bustled along, preparing the palace for the awakening royal family. Jason couldn't help but feel guilty every time he saw the way they moved, like clockwork, behind the scenes ensuring their own lives ran seamlessly, without a hitch. Every time Jason hauled himself out of bed, reluctantly, to face the day, he did so with the knowledge that for many poor souls, their day had begun hours ago and would not end until late into the evening.

Side by side, Jason and Ariadne entered the dining hall, not surprised to see the king and queen already seated, their drinks being poured beside them as platters of food quickly filled the centre of the table, one by one. Jason slid into his chair, opposite his mother, muttering a quiet 'Good morning', to his empty plate as he did so. After Ariadne had moved around the table to kiss her father good morning and mutter a terse but polite greeting to her stepmother, she came back around to seat herself next to Jason.

Minos looked up to Jason, smiling. "Your mother tells me the doctor has been back to see you this morning. He seems pleased with your progress from last night."

Jason nodded. "He was. He says I'm fit as a fiddle, Your Majesty."

"He said no such thing," Pasiphae cut in, quietly, pausing as she made to take a sip of her juice. "But as you are no longer the colour of the driven snow, we may assume that the tonic, bed-rest and poultice have had _some_ positive affect on you." She took a measured sip before fixing her son with a meaningful, pointed look. "Let us see how long you are able to maintain such a relatively healthy disposition before any attempt to sabotage it with further random acts of recklessness."

Jason blushed deeply, and gave a light scowl, even as he heard the king chuckle. "Not _my_ fault," he muttered quietly, steadfastly ignoring his parents' eyes and busying himself with distractedly taking bread, figs, cheeses and fruit from the various bowls and taking random bites from each.

"Come now, Pasiphae," Minos chuckled. "Let us just be glad the boy is up and about and able to join us for breakfast." Jason glanced across to Ariadne and, though she had clearly been smiling at his expense earlier, the young princess now nodded her earnest agreement which made him feel a little better. He smiled back at her.

Pasiphae sighed but when she looked back to her son, she was smiling indulgently at him. "I am indeed very glad to see you up and about," she confirmed, in gentle tones. "However," her voice hardened as she pointed a finger at him, "until you are rid of that cough, you are to stay indoors unless strictly necessary." She could not, Pasiphae knew, counter his recklessness when he left her to go to the city or to his father, but by the gods, she could do something about it while he resided under her own roof. The queen did not give time for Jason to argue with her though if Jason had something to say about it, she knew without a doubt that he would find the opportunity to tell her. Hopefully however, he possessed a smidgen of common sense on the matter. Instead she turned to her husband beside her.

"And what of your plans today, my Lord?"

Minos paused in his breakfast, a look of sudden remembrance crossing his face. "That's right," he exclaimed, softly. "The artists need to meet with us all today to discuss arrangements." The king cast his gaze about the table, sweeping in his family. He did not miss the way Pasiphae and Jason both stiffened. Jason fixed his gaze squarely upon his plate while the queen briefly tried in vain to catch her son's eye. Slightly confused, he continued nonetheless. "Can we all meet after the midday meal in the Tower? They have assured me it should not take long." Minos glanced across to Ariadne who nodded.

"Of course, Father."

"You shall not be needed in the temple?" The girl shook her head.

"Most dedications are made in the morning and Melas has assured me that he needs no help for the few supplicants who arrive in the afternoon."

"Splendid." The king turned to his wife. The woman's expression, he noted, was still tense – hesitant. "My love?" he asked, curiously. "Can you attend?"

Immediately, Pasiphae's expression morphed into a wide, gracious smile. "Certainly. I am due to inspect the kitchens this afternoon but they will need time after the demands of the luncheon, to prepare themselves. I am sure they will appreciate the brief respite." She held her husband's querulous expression a moment longer before he patted her hand and turned to his stepson. As soon as he no longer looked upon her, Pasiphae could not help the sudden weight that came over her. Her earlier conversation with her son had not been one she had recounted to her husband, though why she was not quite sure. Perhaps she did not wish Minos to think ill of the boy? Or perhaps, in her heart, she had hoped Jason would come to change his mind. But looking at him opposite her now, the determined, thin set of his mouth, the way he refused to make eye-contact with anyone around the table Pasiphae knew she had hoped in vain.

"Jason? I am not sure if you are feeling well enough for lessons today but in any event, they do not continue into the afternoon. The task I set you last night will hold off a little longer as well." He was, Pasiphae realised, the only family member that Minos had not directly _asked_ but had simply explained his reasoning of why Jason _would_ be there. It was not the best way to entice her son into a course of action, she thought grimly, even if he _had_ been open to it. It surprised her: Minos usually knew her son better than that. It was easier to see the mistakes when someone else was making them, she supposed.

Opposite her, Jason cleared his throat awkwardly, briefly looking up at the king and then down again at the table, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "I can't do it," he mumbled.

Minos stopped in surprise. "Cannot do it?" he repeated, uncertainly. "Is there another matter you must attend to?"

Pasiphae watched as Jason quickly glanced up at her, a question, a plea and an accusation hidden in his eyes. She felt her own cheeks flush and immediately cursed her weakness. Quietly, she leaned across to her husband and explained: "Jason will not be part of this painting. I had not told you yet as I was…hoping his answer might change." Minos frowned in confusion, glancing between his wife and stepson, sensing the newly created tension between them.

Annoyance prickled at Jason and he shot his mother a darkening look. How like her to assume he'd give in, in the end. "Well it _hasn't_," he ground out, his voice rising.

"_Evidently_," the queen replied curtly, her own voice hardening. From beside Jason, she saw Ariadne try to catch her son's eye but the boy refused to look at any of them. Mentally, she sighed. If he would not communicate even with Ariadne, then there would clearly be no chance of negotiation with him at present. When he dug his heels in so resolutely, changing Jason's mind would be a futile task, she realised. Better to let the matter drop until her son was in a better mood, if at all. Minos, however, had darkened a little at Jason's reply and Pasiphae almost groaned when she sensed her husband sit taller in his chair and level a glare at the boy.

"Your reasons for refusing, Jason, we may discuss at a later time." Jason glanced up at him when he registered the reprimand hovering in the king's tone, his expression turning from resentful to faintly anxious. "However, you will moderate your tone of voice when speaking to your mother, without delay." Minos held Jason's gaze until the boy flushed and looked down to the table. "Is this clear?"

"Yes Sire," Jason said, quietly. Then, barely affording his mother a sparse glance, he muttered a low, "Sorry," before sinking a little lower in his chair sensing, for various reasons, the eyes of his whole family watching him intently. Abruptly, he stood. "I should get ready for Acrion." Minos and Pasiphae watched him, carefully. The meal could not have easily continued with the current tension around the table and they all understood that right now, Jason needed to create some space for himself. Flared tempers would resolve nothing. Though Jason only looked at her quickly, Pasiphae nodded wordlessly at him and Jason took that as his permission to leave, doing so as quickly as possible.

Once he had left the hall, Minos turned his confused expression on Pasiphae but before he could ask, she held up a forestalling hand, sighing sadly. "Please, let us leave this conversation until later: I do not wish to discuss it here." She did not wish to discuss it _at all_ – her son was ashamed to be a part of his own family, to be seen and counted by her side, even in the privacy of their own home. The truth of it stung her terribly though she supposed she should not truly be surprised. She and Jason had not, after-all, had a flourishing beginning to their relationship and no matter how close they may grow, the past could never be wiped clean.

But Minos _would_ ask, she knew. And she would have to tell him eventually. But not now and certainly not in front of Ariadne who looked on the verge of leaping out of her own seat to go chasing after her son. Propriety and her father's expectations were likely the only things keeping the girl where she sat. Pasiphae almost smiled sadly at the young princess. She would learn soon enough when to press the boy and when to give him his space. Young men could be so moody and unpredictable at times and she had, as yet, very little experience with the opposite sex and manoeuvring around the give and take of a relationship. But that would all come to her in time.

Shaking his head slightly, Minos nodded, still a touch unconvinced. "As you wish, my love." He squeezed her hand briefly before turning back to his breakfast. It was a silent signal for them all to continue, for the mini-drama to be forgotten until a later time and for their lives to continue as normal, as if they had never been interrupted. It was a comfortable, familiar avoidance that they all slipped back into, with practised ease.

* * *

As soon as Jason left the table, the guilt began to insert itself into the cracks in his anger. Snapping at his mother had, in fairness, been uncalled for. Though he still heartily disagreed with her request, he couldn't truly find fault with her handling of his reaction. She had, in fact, shown far more acceptance of his refusal than he would have given her credit for. Jason briefly thought back to the stringent expectations she had placed upon him when he first arrived at the Palace – how wary she had been that his stubbornness was a sign of a deeper, more dangerous rebellion. Would she have tolerated such defiance back then, Jason wondered? Somehow, he doubted it. No, his mother had come a long way since those first tense weeks. As Jason crossed the lavish Great Hall, he paused at the foot of the staircase. A sharp pang of melancholy struck him square in the chest. How far they had both come in these last five months. How deeply they had touched each other's hearts, shaped the other's thoughts and lives, these two, seemingly irrevocably opposite people. He loved his mother and it still surprised Jason to hear himself think it. The young man could not pin-point _when_ this change had happened, only that he felt it every day and though it made him happy, it also made him afraid. Deeply afraid. Love could be withdrawn, withheld. It could hold him together during his dark days and it could also hurt him, intentionally or otherwise.

The young man sighed, one hand resting on the head of the banister. He had wanted to venture outside after his family spat but, perhaps in deference to his mother's wishes and perhaps because he felt he had already worried them all enough lately, Jason headed up to his room instead. Truth be told, he still felt a little tired and he had not left the dining table under entirely false pretences: he really _did_ need to prepare for his tutorials. The scrolls had not escaped from the rain of last night as well as Jason had hoped and Pasiphae had spread them out by his fire before she had extinguished the lamps. He only prayed they had survived the procedure.

Jason trotted back up the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached his chambers once more. Glancing into the room, he saw it had not yet been made up and gave a quiet sigh. That meant he might encounter the servants whose job it was to make his bed, clean out the ashes of last night's fire and make up a new one, ready to be lit. They would open wide his curtains and briefly open the balcony doors, airing the room. A fresh bowl of fruit would be provided for him on his dressing table, the selection changed daily, regardless of whether he had eaten anything from it or not. Jason sometimes tried to circumvent their attentions, but to no avail. He made his own bed every morning and he was not normally a bed-maker – certainly not when he returned home to Hercules and Pythagoras. But he made a point to do so, every day while at the Palace. It made no difference: whenever he returned to his room, his bed had been re-made and, he had to admit, they were much better at it than he was. Sometimes he left little notes, scribbled on corners of parchment, asking them to leave the fruit as it was but it was always replaced. It was possible those who tended his room could not read. Jason did consider it but even when he put his request to them verbally, it fell on deaf ears, so tuned as they were to the wishes of the Queen. Once, the serving girl came in to find him sweeping out his own hearth with a pan and broom that he had found outside his room. The girl had almost burst into tears, begging him not to inform the Queen or the housekeeper about the failings in her duties. At that point, after spending a good five minutes trying to calm the hysterical girl down and feeling frustratingly wretched in the process, Jason had decided that it caused far too much stress for the servants to try to do things for himself. But it still didn't stop him from occasionally trying.

However, he was in no mood today to have to try and persuade them that they weren't needed – they still looked so worried whenever they were sent away. So, moving to the fireplace, Jason quickly tested the scrolls, patting them lightly for dampness. They were dry, he found and thankfully the words were still clear. A little brittle, but they would survive. Carefully, Jason gathered them up and slid them into his satchel. He and Acrion were due to discuss the origins of the Haloea and its customs in Atlantis and, given his stepfather's amusingly adverse opinion of the festival, Jason was very curious to discover more about it.

With a small start, Jason turned his head to the sound of quiet voices outside his door. It sounded as though his room was about to be invaded by the serving girls again. Quickly he rose to his feet and grabbed his cloak. Though his study room was always kept warm and toasty with a crackling fire, the North Tower itself could be decidedly chilly. He opened his door as slowly as possible, not wanting to startle the young girls who he knew, would undoubtedly be expecting the room to be empty at this time of day. His caution went unrewarded however. The girls still let out a startled squeak, leaping back a pace.

"Sorry," Jason said, taking advantage of their shock to quickly step around them. "It's all yours – thanks." And with that, he skirted past them and off towards the staircase. The girls, both around fourteen years and unsurprisingly doe-eyed around the young, dark-haired prince, watched him disappear down the steps, then turned to each other and giggled. If the housemistress caught them indulging in such girlish, unbecoming frivolity, they would be in for a scolding and a stern lecture. But as it was, safe in their seclusion in the Royal wing, they simply sighed gently and gathered up their brooms and piles of linen, stepping inside the room.

* * *

By the time Jason returned to his chambers and deposited his bag onto his bed, though he didn't share the sentiment, he had a better understanding of why Minos hated the festival. It reminded him a little of the carnival spirit of Mardi Gras or the Notting Hill festival – but with a bit more debauchery thrown in. Minos' disapproval still amused him. The king was surprisingly open, Jason had found, to ideas and concepts that he was sure would have earned the man's disapproval so there was something quite…satisfying in finding something that his stepfather found so objectionable – that he was so affronted by. The rock music of its time; the daring fashions. It fitted, Jason realised, into one of his idle childhood impressions of the stuffy, disapproving father who he could shock with his outlandish, wild ideas. Not that he really had any intention of purposefully winding Minos up but the thought made him smile.

With a small sigh, Jason collapsed onto the bed and flopped backwards, stretching lazily, like a cat. It might have been a mistake, going to his lessons while he still felt a little drained from the night before but at the time, Jason had wanted a legitimate excuse to avoid the family for a few hours: something that could not be construed as sulking or hiding or in any way being anti-social. With a guilty start, Jason realised that this was usually the time he went to Minos' private council chambers to continue his study until lunch. He sat up and crossed his legs on the bed, looking pensively towards the closed door. His stepfather usually welcomed his presence, even though it came in the midst of the king's own peaceful ritual. But after breakfast, Jason had his doubts as to whether his welcome had been revoked. The king had been angry at his treatment of his mother and confused by his refusal to join in the family event. Jason chewed his bottom lip as his stomach tied itself in knots at the thought: he couldn't bear the thought of an interrogation on the subject by the king. The man had looked so _disappointed_ in his decision and Jason _hated _disappointing people.

No. Seeing the king now was probably a mistake. Even if the man _wanted_ to see him, it would doubtless not be for a reason that Jason wished to engage in. The next time he saw Minos he would need to come armed with something that would both please the king and hopefully distract him from thoughts of the promised continuation of that discussion. Jason cast his gaze about the room and presently, his eyes fell upon the sheaf of court papers that still sat on his desk, bound by their seal. Curiosity piqued his interest as he crossed the room and took them up. Breaking the seal carefully, sliding his thumb underneath the topmost paper, Jason slowly unwound them and spread the parchment out on his desk, moving aside the odd goblet or ink pot.

He pulled his chair up and sat down, eyes scanning through the official introduction and moving on to the parties involved and the matters arising. The content was mundane really, he quickly realised as he began to leaf through them; land disputes; ownership disputes of various objects, animals, merchandise; business arrangements that had not, at least to one party's satisfaction, been honoured. But it all faintly amazed Jason. Not the day-to-day grievances but the very nature of being privy to the lives of so many strangers before him. Here they were, all these people – his friends and neighbours – laying out their niggles and their lives on paper, waiting for someone, waiting for his stepfather, to pass judgment on them. It felt so alien, so detached and yet so intrinsically personal. The more Jason read, the deeper each grievance _mattered_, even the clearly ridiculous ones: they mattered to _somebody_ – to that man whose neighbours kept him awake night after night with unnecessary revelling. For a moment, Jason saw the man from the paper manifest into a middle-aged man of flesh and blood, sitting up in bed, grinding his teeth and hammering on the floor below him with the handle of a broom. He smiled, briefly.

It ended up being quite a natural process, Jason found, moving each paper into a different pile on his desk after reading. Three piles emerged as the sheaf of papers grew steadily lower: one of obvious importance, one that could clearly wait a while longer and a smaller, indecisive pile that he would need to look over again, once he had seen where the others fitted in, to know where they belonged. He came across one about permission for a water pump in the town square and gave a small grimace, moving it straight-away to the top of the 'important' pile. The long delay in running water in the agora was causing an increased amount of grumblings and tension amongst the people from all walks of life. Jason didn't like to imagine the reactions if the petition was put back once _again_ and this time till after the Winter break.

A wave of weariness washed over him and Jason paused to rub a tired hand over his face. He yawned widely and stretched his arms above his head, arching the base of his spine. Jason cast a quick glance over his shoulder to where his neatly made-up bed stood, invitingly. God, what he wouldn't give to collapse onto it and sleep for another couple of hours, he thought ruefully. Another yawn escaped him as well as a muggy sensation that briefly clouded his head as the room gently dipped a little. Jason frowned as he felt a sudden, deep gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach and his arms lightly trembled. Was he getting sick again? Jason narrowed his eyes as he took a quick internal assessment: he hadn't coughed in quite some time and no other parts of him seemed to be affected. Could it be hunger, he wondered? Breakfast _had_ been rather curtailed. He grimaced. Lunch would mean seeing at least one member of his family again but that couldn't be avoided forever.

Jason sighed and leaned back in his chair, rotating his stiff neck. No, he would have to put in an appearance at some point and he may as well get it over and done with. The thought of crawling back in to bed was certainly tempting but he could manage a while longer. He looked back to the few papers left on his desk. Just a few more to sort, he decided, and then once they were in the correct pile, he would take a short break. The young man picked up the next paper and briefly struggled to refocus his eyes. The more he read of this particular petition however, the further thoughts of a mid-afternoon nap drifted from his mind, the words on the page morphing to images in his mind and finally into a stirring in his gut. Jason finished reading and sat in silence a moment, eyes drifting up to stare blankly out of the window, lost in thought. He tapped his fingers absently against his desk. Then abruptly, the young man quickly finished looking through the last few petitions and took up the third pile and divided it into the two groups. Then he stood and gathered the papers into his hands, stacking them neatly together before sliding them into his bag. The last paper, he kept separate from the others, holding it still in his hand as he left his chambers and set off for the king's study.

* * *

Minister Seminos stood tall by the imposing, polished oak table that dominated the King's private council chambers. He had not been granted permission to sit and the slight still stung him though he schooled his pointed, angular features into a mask of obliging service. Seated in his habitual place, he watched the king sigh in irritation.

"I have heard this request before and my answer has not changed since last month. I shall be sending no envoy to the lands of Egypt until the winter months have passed and the seas are once more safe for travel." His tanned face creased in annoyed bemusement. "What is it about this proclamation that the Lord Khalid finds difficult to understand? Does he _wish_ us to perish at sea?"

Seminos nodded his earnest understanding, accompanying the gesture with a short bow. "I am sure no offence is intended, Your Majesty. Lord Khalid is not versed in our ways and does not understand the implications of his request." Minos snorted.

"For a political envoy for his country, the man shows an alarming lack of awareness for the world around him." Another sigh, this time less harsh, escaped his lips. "But increased trade between our two countries is vital if we are to continue to thrive. We must do what we can, I suppose, to build relations. They would be powerful allies indeed if Persia causes us any more problems."

Again, Seminos bowed. "As you say, My Lord: we shall do what we can to sweeten relations and with this in mind, I shall carefully convey your response to Lord Khalid." The minister hesitated a moment before taking a small breath and raising a careful eyebrow. "It is my humble understanding, Your Majesty, that the Pharaoh Raneb is blessed with three young, beautiful and charming daughters who he is anxious to make good matches for."

From where he sat, Minos leaned back in his chair, fixing a slightly harder look on his First Minister. "Indeed?"

Perhaps choosing not to heed the warning in his master's tone, Seminos pressed on. "Word is that each daughter has substantial dowry and would make a fine match for any young man." Minos stiffened. He could well imagine which _young man_ his minister was implying would be a fine match – far away from them all in the lands of Egypt. Yes, an alliance with this powerful nation would indeed be a fine thing but this was not a conversation he was even willing to _contemplate_, much less with _this man_.

"If the Pharaoh wishes to discuss an alliance of marriage within my family, that is a matter he can present to me in private – it is _not_ a matter to be discussed by you or by anyone else." The steel in the king's voice was unmistakable. Seminos immediately lowered his gaze and bowed once more, a little deeper this time.

"Of course, my Lord. My sincere apologies. I thought, as always, only of the good of Atlantis. I shall not make mention of the matter again." Then, ignoring the darkening of the king's eyes, he began to back away. "If you have no further need of me, my Lord?"

With an irritated flick of his wrist, Minos dismissed the man who smoothly glided out of the room. As soon as the door had softly closed, Minos tried to turn his attention back to the state papers on his desk but found that his mind was troubled and divided. He took a sip of his wine, wondering briefly how long until the midday meal and whether it would be overly indulgent to send for a tray of food to his chambers beforehand. But as his stomach turned to food, his mind turned back to his minister. He had always known of the silent animosity between Jason and Seminos. In truth, it did not bother him a great deal, provided Jason did not deliberately provoke his ministers, behaving with the decorum of a prince and that Seminos remembered his station at all times and spoke to Jason with suitable deference. In all honesty, the two spoke very little to each other which was just as well.

But now the man was implying that he should send the boy abroad? To make a marriage with a foreign bride? The notion still angered Minos. How dare he make such a suggestion? That was a matter for himself, with Pasiphae's approval, as Jason's parents to consider, _if_ such an instance needed imagining in the first place. He had, for a short time now, thought that some travel might be good for the boy in the future – perhaps a short journey into Egypt would be beneficial to broaden the lad's horizons? But permanently? An alliance would be useful but not with Jason as the price. He was to rule Atlantis, with Ariadne at his side – the two of them, together, would be wise, strong and compassionate leaders. To send Jason away now would be utter madness. And more than that, Minos did not like to imagine what that would do to his wife, to his daughter. And to himself. He had already suffered the crushing loss of one son. To lose another was a cruelty the Gods could surely not inflict on him again?

He suddenly laughed a low, bitter laugh. How ahead of himself was he getting? Jason had made no such commitment to remain with them when his year was over. He had made no intonations that he would be willing to accept the throne of Atlantis. For all Minos knew, the boy would choose his friends, to return to his life in the city. It would crush Pasiphae; it would tear a hole through the life that suddenly seemed reanimated in the Palace. Minos tried, for a moment, to imagine a time when he would merely catch the odd glimpse of the boy – at a festival, in the court house, at a royal announcement. What would it be like, for all of them, to see each other as a face in the crowd or a distant figure on a podium? The thought made his heart ache. Although, he thought with a guilty turn, the longer Jason remained in the Palace, the greater his exposure to others became, the harder he would find it to return to his old life without repercussion, without recognition.

A knock sounded at his door. For a moment, Minos suspected Seminos had one more urgent matter to bring to his attention. He narrowed his eyes. If he made one more hint of sending Jason away, he would have a significant body part removed from him without preamble! But, he realised, the knock was wrong: it was not as self-assured as the one his First Minister would have used. A servant then.

"Come," he called out, brusquely. Already he had turned back to his work. Servants came and went frequently to tend the fire and refresh his wine. Though perhaps he would enquire as to the luncheon? He lifted his head to the door, stopping in surprise to see a hesitant Jason hanging back in the doorway, having just closed the door with a quiet click. The boy had his dark curls bowed as he lowered his gaze uncertainly to the floor. His leather bag was slung over one shoulder and in his hand, he gripped a single sheet of parchment.

"Jason?" Minos asked. "Why are you lurking in the doorway? Come in and see me properly." Minos immediately reached across to the small stool that stood nearby and drew it closer. The meaning was clear and he only hoped the boy was not going to fight him on it. Fortunately, though he moved with slightly reluctant steps, Jason complied. He did not quite drag his feet across the room but he moved cautiously as though the path between them might be littered with traps. When Jason eventually reached him, he stood for a moment, paused above the stool until Minos raised a pointed eyebrow at him.

"Are you intending to loom over me like a statue?" he asked. The question might have made Jason even more nervous but the twinkle in the king's eye and hint of amusement in his voice belied any severity. With a slight, bashful smile, Jason lowered himself onto the seat.

"Sorry," he said quietly, risking a look up into the king's eyes. "I didn't want to disturb you."

Minos regarded him carefully, his features softening. "You are usually sharing this time _with_ me," he pointed out. "I had expected to see you after your lessons. The room has been too quiet this morning." He watched his stepson flush and duck his head once more.

"Sorry," Jason murmured again. "I was in my chambers. I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me…after breakfast, you know." He trailed off, awkwardly, eyes still lowered and clearly trying not to worry his bottom lip between his teeth. Minos watched his nervousness and sighed, gently. In some ways he felt as though he had known Jason far longer than the months that he had shared their lives. But there were days that reminded them all that it truly had not been so great a time-span. Jason was generally a fine and noble-hearted lad but on the rare occasion when he found cause to reprimand the boy or even speak firmly to him, though Jason knew how to accept the correction he was painfully unsure of his place and of his reception in the time that followed. It was a matter to work on, over time together.

Minos shook his head firmly, his tone of voice brooking no argument: "It was a matter dealt and finished with then. It is certainly no reason to keep you from my company. At least, I would hope not." Trying to catch his stepson's eye would, Minos knew, be a futile task so he simply waited for a sign of acknowledgement. It was not long before Jason rewarded his patience with a hesitant nod and a shy smile.

"Well then," the king announced, moving on briskly. "I can see you have brought something for my attention." He indicated the paper, now getting rather crumpled in the forgotten grip of Jason's hand. Immediately, Jason glanced down at it and loosened his grip, smoothing the parchment back out.

"Yes. I've brought the petitions you asked for." He withdrew the papers from his bag and handed the two piles to the king. "The top pile should really be seen before the Winter break, if you can fit them in." Minos accepted them with a slightly raised eyebrow. Jason had worked quickly on this task but then he was always an efficient worker. Perhaps, he considered, the boy needed more tasks to fulfil? Perhaps he could be challenged more? He got the impression that Jason fared better when he was occupied, when he had a clear purpose and certainly the lad possessed a keen potential that would be almost criminal to waste. He had not intended to put too much on the boy's shoulders until he was further along his path, but was this doing more harm than good? He would have to speak to Pasiphae about the matter.

But in the mean time, he looked down to the parchments in his hand, surprised to see a water pump in the agora at the top of the group. Passing over to the next, he saw a border dispute between two farmers on the outskirts of the city. Neither were, he realised, issues that he personally would have given priority to. But to question his stepson's judgment did not even occur to him and as Minos looked at the assurance in the young man's expression as he watched the king's reactions, his heart swelled with a sudden burst of pride. Clearly, his instincts about the boy's perceptiveness had been on the mark. The king nodded in thoughtful acceptance and did not miss the way some of the tension that Jason had been carrying across his shoulders began to seep out.

"Very well. I am glad to see the list is not too long. This is quite achievable in the time that we have." Jason grinned at the news. "I shall make arrangements to have the relevant parties contacted. Thank you for such prompt action." Then Minos paused, a shrewd expression in his eyes. "But why, may I ask, is one paper separate from the rest?" He watched in some amusement as Jason shifted a little uncomfortably. What had the boy dug up, he wondered? When Jason showed him the paper, he began to explain, even as Minos scanned the contents.

"There's a widow," Jason began. "She owns this farm – I guess it used to belong to her husband. Her neighbour is petitioning to have her evicted." Minos' expression betrayed no opinion on the matter either way, but he looked to Jason in a sign to continue. Jason began to feel a little silly for singling this out in the first place but as he had started, he might as well finish. He took a deep breath. "Well, her neighbour – this man Dimitri – is accusing this woman, Despina, of witchcraft, of making his crops fail." Jason paused, waiting for the king's reaction. For a moment, Minos looked back down to the petition, scanning through the contents. He could see no reason why this should be given a higher priority than others but he got the impression that it meant a lot to his stepson. Why though, he was not quite sure.

"And you want this case seen to as a matter of priority?" he clarified. Jason nodded. "Then why not just put it on the top pile with the others?" he asked, curiously. Jason often worked in strange ways but there was usually a reason behind it. Jason was looking at him with that guileless expression the boy often wore that seemed to imply that he thought the king should know the answer already.

"Well," Jason answered, hesitantly, "I just wondered what you were going to do with the case?"

Minos regarded him honestly. "I do not know," he answered. "I have not heard the case yet."

"Yes. But _witchcraft_? Isn't it more likely to just be bad crops?" Jason's expression held a mixture of disbelief and resentment. This was, the king realised, one of those matters in which Jason held a distinctly contrary view to many in Atlantis and his feelings on the matter ran deep. It was something to do with the place he had been raised. However, the boy was in Atlantis now and must moderate his views with some form of compromise.

"You have not heard the man's evidence," he reminded him, sternly. "We cannot dismiss such claims out of hand."

Jason ran a frustrated hand through his dark curls and held back a heavy sigh. He wants to say more, Minos realised, wants to argue and probably with some passion, inappropriate to the occasion. But the boy held himself in check – with some difficulty but still with success. Inwardly, he smiled. He had no wish to censure Jason's thoughts or feelings – the lad was entitled to them and was, within reason, allowed to express them to him. But that he was learning such self-control was admirable.

"I can see you do not agree," Minos said, raising his hands in a placating gesture when he saw Jason's anxious reaction. "It is alright – you are allowed to disagree. But I must abide by the laws of the land. I am not sure what you would have me do."

"How can this woman defend herself?" Jason asked.

"She must prove that witchcraft has not been used," the king replied.

Jason widened his eyes, incredulously. "How is anyone meant to do that?" With the scientific evidence available in _his_ day and age, Jason thought grimly, the task would have been quite possible. But _here_? What chance did this widow have? Frustratingly, Minos just gave a gentle shake of his head.

"It is what she must do. If she can find men of good character to speak on her behalf as to her _own_ good character, that will go some way. I must admit, it would probably be easier on this woman if she accepted the eviction and moved on peaceably to a new place, rather than take this to trial and risk being found guilty of witchcraft. I can offer her a small sum of compensation for the loss of her land. But you must remember that until they are heard in court, all petitions are private and must not be discussed outside of the parties involved or this palace." Jason understood the meaning immediately and he had to admit, he had been meaning to ask Pythagoras' opinion on the issue. But now that he had been warned against it, Jason had no desire to betray the trust Minos had placed in him or indeed, that these people who petitioned the courts had that their grievances would not become public gossip.

Sensing Jason's disappointment, Minos smiled at him more gently. "If you wish to help this woman, I cannot advise you further – it would not be appropriate if I am also to hear the case. But why not take some time to think on this and I may hear her case after the Winter break?"

But Jason smiled sadly back. "I don't think it can wait that long. They'll want to plant the new crops in the Spring and this man will want the issue resolved by then. I'm sure she will, too." Seeing his reasoning, the king sighed softly.

"I see your point. Very well then, I shall ensure this is heard promptly." He paused, eyeing Jason carefully. "As long as you are discrete and do not give any unfair advantage to this woman out of personal interests, I give you permission to speak to her directly." He watched a light suddenly shine in the boy's eyes and briefly wondered if that was a good omen or not. "She will need to find evidence to support her defence. You may advise her that her case is to be heard in the coming weeks and perhaps you might then assure yourself that this will be dealt with fairly."

Jason grinned. "Thank you, my Lord."

It was such a bright, easy-going and infectious grin that Minos could not help smiling back. However, he schooled his face back into a sterner mask as he pointed a warning finger at him. "Just remember your position here. You need not introduce yourself by your true title but do not approach her under false pretences – it would not bode well for the case. You are an advisor to the Court and you must remain impartial, despite your feelings. Am I clear?"

Jason nodded, earnestly. He was still grinning though and Minos just sighed again and shook his head, fondly. When the lad was excited about something, suppressing it was sometimes more trouble than it was worth. Jason had understood his message and the king was sure he would execute his duties with all due care and attention. Even though a small part of his gut – the part that housed his parental instincts - was tingling in a faint warning. Jason needed room to grow, to explore this new path he was on, to learn and to make mistakes and as his king and his stepfather, it was his job to provide the boy with such opportunities and the love and support he would need to fail and try again. But all the same, keeping a close eye on the young man would not go astray.

* * *

That's it for now. Thanks so much if you've read down to the end!


	6. Chapter 6

Five of Swords

Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own any of them.

A/N. Thank you to everyone who took the time to review and encourage me in the last chapter. I know the huge gaps in posting have lost several readers along the way, so I really appreciate it if you're still following this story. Thanks also to _Ash_ and to my two guests – I'm really glad you're enjoying the story and thanks for your reviews.

I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. I would love to know what people think. Please enjoy!

Chapter 6

The usual quiet hubbub of the streets had been replaced, it seemed, with a carefree frivolity. The first of Poseideon's great feasting days had commenced and lavish merriment and gluttony poured through every dusty nook and cranny. In the narrower side-streets, people sat crammed onto the stone steps that led up to houses and shops leading out into rows of tables and stools in the wider expanses of road. Flags fluttered in the surprisingly gentle breeze, wine and ale flowed into both the humblest wooden drinking vessel and the opulent bejewelled cups, carved with intricate designs. Toast after toast to Poseidon and to the health of the Royal Family were offered up by random revellers, each one met with an raucous uproar of affirmation – with the odd lewd joke tagged on to the end.

And yet surrounded by such like-minded company, Pythagoras had never sat across such a quiet, sombre Hercules. True, he ate the pies and drank the wine and had asked for a refill twice since they had found a seat to cram into at one of the tables, but his mood seemed inexplicably low. Pythagoras cast a pensive look to his friend, who watched the proceedings around him with a grim detachment, alternately taking a bite out of his meat pie and staring down at the table.

"I hope Iphicles returns soon with his wine," Pythagoras shouted across the table to him, hoping to produce some kind of a response. He glanced across to his cloak, rolled up on the seat next to him. "It is getter harder and harder to keep his place at the table with so much competition for it." As if to make his point, a large man stumbled backwards from where he stood behind the young mathematician in a tight throng of people, bumping him hard on the back so that his nose was almost shoved into his, more modest, meal.

"Apologies, my friend!" the large man laughed, too inebriated even with the sun still so high in the sky, to be truly bothered by the accident. Even so, he eyed the spare inch of seating next to the gangly Pythagoras with a slowly dawning realization, an idea beginning to mist through the alcoholic stupor. Pythagoras glanced up at the man with a weak smile, feeling his nervous frame tense as he tried to push his elbows out a little.

"It's _taken_."

Pythagoras jumped when he heard Hercules' growl and glanced over to where his friend had temporarily reanimated and was now glowering darkly at the drunken hulk. On seeing the non-too subtle meaning emanating from the dark cloud of Hercules, the man suddenly shook his head and laughed, heartily, thumped Pythagoras on the back in such a good-natured manner that the young man felt it would have been rude to point out how much it had hurt, and stumbled away into the crowd.

The young man smiled gratefully at his friend. "I was beginning to think you weren't with us," he teased, a slight accusation in his tone. Hercules shifted awkwardly.

"Sorry about that," he muttered but offered no further explanation. Pythagoras gave a mental sigh. Even if he had wanted answers for his friend's strange, distant behaviour this was certainly not the time and place to go about seeking them: it was hard enough to exchange inane pleasantries with their neighbours, much less delve into a personal, investigative conversation. But in any event, it was good to see his friend stirring back to life. Even now, he attacked his food with more gusto, glancing about himself at the loud revelry, almost as if seeing and appreciating it for the first time. Pythagoras suddenly winced when he realised all of the stories Hercules could add to the surrounding conversation and, for once, not be wildly inappropriate.

"This is good," Hercules enthused, holding up what was left of the pie in question – a scrap of crust that was soon to meet the fate of its comrades. "One of Thebus' if I'm not much mistaken." Pythagoras doubted that he was: Hercules could practically identify pies through their birth marks. "Are you not going to finish yours?" Hercules asked, glancing down to the cloth Pythagoras had spread before him and the small pile of food that it held.

"Yes!" he answered quickly, wrapping his thin arms protectively around his hoard. He may not inhale his food like others around him but it did not mean it was not appreciated all the same. Hercules just shrugged and let the matter drop, much to the genius' relief. A shadow suddenly fell across his lap and the young man groaned, preparing himself to once again fight for the seat beside him. However, a hand rested gently on his shoulder.

"Thank you for keeping my place," a deep voice said. "You must have had to guard it like Cerberus to the Underworld." A second wave of relief washed over the young man and he smiled up at the newly returned Iphicles, gathering up his cloak as the older man awkwardly climbed over the bench and squeezed in next to him. Hercules offered his brother a tight smile.

"You took your time," he remarked, though his comment was noticeably softened when he saw the flagon of wine Iphicles had brought back with him and was now refilling his cup with. The man gave a shrug.

"I thought you would be holding court amongst these fine fellows," he said, indicating the laughing crowd that stood and sat about them, "entertaining them with one of your colourful stories and I wished to spare myself the more visual details." Hercules scowled even as Pythagoras chuckled, making room for Iphicles to spread his own food out onto a small cloth in front of him. Grapes, cheese, figs and bread he noted: not a pie in sight. Instinctively, irrationally, he wondered if Hercules would have taken offence.

"So, Pythagoras," Iphicles announced turning his head to fix his eye on the young man. "Have you thought any more about my offer?" Immediately, Pythagoras tensed, noting with a sinking heart, the way Hercules darkened and gripped the rim of his cup with a little more force. How he wished Iphicles would realise how uncomfortable it was to bring this conversation up in front of Hercules. He made a mental note to quietly make mention of it when the two of them were alone. For now though, ignoring his old friend's hard stare that bored a hole through the table, he cleared his throat.

"I am thinking about it," he promised. "It is a very kind and tempting offer." He felt, not saw, Hercules sharply lift his downcast eyes from the table to stare directly at him, piercing, accusing and at the same time both sad and understanding. Yet the larger man said nothing eventually shifting his gaze to glare upon his brother. Iphicles himself, if he was aware of the tension created, made no show of it.

"Excellent," he remarked, smoothly. "I know I would be lucky to have you and that it cannot be an easy choice. But I am sure you know your mind enough to make the right decision." Then he smiled and took a deep drink of his wine, sighing in satisfaction as he replaced the cup on the table. The gesture bore a startling resemblance to Hercules and, for a moment, jarred Pythagoras who had almost forgotten the two were related. Now that Hercules glared dangerously upon his brother, Pythagoras felt the air prickle around him. He tensed. Normally, instinct told him to smooth over the rough patches – to calm the waters. But he was too nervous to play peace-keeper this time. He was a tiny boat being tossed on those stormy waters and the idea of battling the winds and waves was more than he had the stomach for that day.

"If you will excuse me," he mumbled into his lap. "There are some chores I must finish at the house."

"Now?" Iphicles asked, surprise written over his face. "Surely they can wait until after the feast? And besides, your house looks immaculate as it always does." Pythagoras laughed, hesitantly.

"I know it looks that way and it is kind of you to say. But really, there are things that I am glad you cannot see. But I really should…"

"Let him go," Hercules said, quietly. "If he says he has things to do, that's his business." A quick flick of his eyes to the young, blonde man and an even quicker hint of a smile showed the apprehensive Pythagoras that the remark had been made out of understanding rather than bitterness. He smiled gratefully in response.

Iphicles bowed his head, softly. "Of course, my friend. Please forgive my intrusion. I shall see you back at the house where I shall no doubt be carrying my brother home if his wine cup is refilled any more." The man's eyes twinkled with his own joke but Pythagoras only felt it settle heavily in the pit of his stomach.

"Then you are far more suited to the task than I," he returned, with a polite smile. "I shall see you both later." And with that, he clambered to his feet, half falling backwards off the bench in his attempt to step over it. He was grateful once more to feel the steadying hand of Iphicles reach out to grab an arm and keep him on his feet as he righted himself. Then both brothers watched in silence as the young man pushed and wove his way through the tightly knitted crowd, neither one relaxing until it was apparent that the slight lad had made it into open ground unharmed.

Once Pythagoras had disappeared from sight, Iphicles turned back to his brother, noting for the first time the look of festering suspicion. It did not come entirely as a surprise to him and the tall man sighed heavily. His brother had clearly been labouring over a worry for some time now.

"You have something on your mind, Hercules?" he enquired, deceptively lightly, knowing it would only take a gentle prod with his brother's mood so darkly brewing. For a moment, Hercules did not answer him. He looked away, marshalling his thoughts, his fingers woven tightly together as they rested beside his forgotten place-cloth. Iphicles sat back a little from the table, regarding his brother patiently though with open curiosity.

After a moment, the old wrestler seemed to reach a conclusion. He raised steely eyes to fix upon his twin. "Why are you here, Iphicles?" It was strange, Iphicles thought, that in such a noisy, bustling environment, he could hear his brother perfectly though the man's tone had been low and hard, edged with that familiar hint of fear and sorrow. He gave a neutral shrug in reply, to which Hercules narrowed his eyes, leaning in closer.

"Are you here to stir up the past? To cause trouble? You've not been straight with me." He hesitated. "And I suppose I'm as much to blame for that – I've not gone out of my way to have this conversation. But I'm having it now. I need to know you're not going to go dredging things up that belong in the past – _forgotten_. Things are good the way they are now – I don't need you tearing down everything I've built up." For a moment, his eyes widened, becoming wild, imploring, desperate. He shot out a meaty hand and gripped his brother's forearm. "_Promise me_," he almost pleaded. Then, abruptly, he seemed to realise how he must look to anyone witnessing this exchange, how he must look to his brother. He removed his hand with haste and sat back though his eyes remained guarded and he felt his heart hard in the middle of his chest.

Iphicles sat, watching him. His cool eyes gave away nothing and as Hercules watched his brother's face for some sign of benefaction, his own gaze was drawn once more to the jagged scar that ran the course of his face, like a river. The familiar feeling of guilt and nausea churned his gut. _Damn the man_, he thought, angrily. _How hard was it to make a response?_ However, before he could give in to his frustration, reach across the table and take the man up by his shirt-front, his brother opened his mouth to reply.

"I am truly sorry that my arrival has caused you such anguish, Hercules," he began. "I admit, I did not know what my reception would be, given the circumstances in which we parted company." Hercules' burly frame grew taut but when Iphicles raised up a forestalling hand, the wrestler reluctantly held his tongue, even though the tension did not leave him. "Believe me when I say I am not here to cause you trouble. That was never my intent." Iphicles paused and the hesitation – the genuine uncertainty – gave Hercules a rare glimpse of his brother's fallibility. It went some small way – _some_ _very small way - _to making him relax, to seeing this man as something less of a threat.

Iphicles took a deep breath. "I had not intended to impart this to you, my reasoning for making this journey and seeking you out, but as you have asked, I feel it right to tell you. I had a dream." He watched, with some wry amusement, as his brother let out the mocking snort he had been expecting. "I know," he admitted. "Your feelings in matters such as this have always been plain and I had not expected your views to have softened since our last years together. But believe me when I say that such things bear significance to me and in this dream, I came to understand that I was being drawn back to Atlantis."

Hercules, now unsure whether to be wary of his brother or to scoff at him, rolled his eyes. "Drawn back?" he repeated. "You think the gods are speaking to you? Sending you back for a family reunion. I think they might have a few more pressing matters to deal with, don't you?"

But his brother merely shrugged, not willing to enter into an argument. "I understand your feelings, but this is my reasoning whether it be co-incidence or something more. In my dream, I was told to mend the past. That a great wrong had been committed and I was to return to put it right." At this, the joviality that had begun to take hold of Hercules was suddenly replaced by a blinding flash of panic.

"What _wrongs_?" he asked, sharply. Iphicles simply stared back, a little unsure of the question.

"You know as well as I do," he said. "Our relationship, our broken bond of family." Still curious, he watched his brother's shoulders sag in relief. What else, he wondered, could Hercules have been referring to? "Since losing my dear wife, Rosemerta, in childbirth I have felt the pull of family more strongly." His eyes downcast and Hercules instantly felt a pang of sharp sorrow. He had not known – not known his brother had been married, nor had lost a wife and child. They had not shared such honest conversation since the man's arrival and, despite his suspicions, Hercules' stout heart broke for his twin. No man should have to endure such loss and whatever had once passed between them, this man was still his brother and he would never have such pain inflicted upon him.

Once more, he reached across the table, more hesitantly this time, and replaced his hand on his brother's arm. "I'm sorry, Iphicles," he said quietly. "I had no idea. I didn't know you had been married, much less lost your wife and…" he trailed off, uncertainly.

"Son," Iphicles supplied, equally quietly though his face now bore a distant, sad smile. "It was a boy though the gods chose that it should not be." He looked with gratitude to Hercules. "Thank you for your words though, brother. You would have made a jolly uncle, I am sure. My wife was a fine woman as well– you would have liked her." He chuckled, quietly and for a moment, Hercules smiled wistfully back, removing his hand once more. "No, family is important. I see that now and it is past time that I took steps to make amends. In fact," he said, suddenly, "I feel as though you have found your own family here and I am very glad of it – those boys are clearly very dear to you and you to them." Though he had spoken with a smile, Hercules immediately darkened, pulling back with a frown.

"Not so glad of it that you won't try and steal one off to Athens with you though, eh?" He glared accusingly at the man, annoyed to see him simply shrug.

"I do not mean to cause division amongst you. However, Pythagoras would be an asset to any man's business and it is true, I should enjoy his company. But he will decide what is best for himself, I am sure. If it makes you feel better, I shall make no further mention of the offer to him."

Hercules harrumphed, quietly, folding his arms across his chest and leaning them on the table. He could feel Iphicles watching him, even as he refused to return the stare. His brother's voice, deceptively mild, spoke up.

"You know, if you feel so strongly about it, you could always come too? And Jason, of course. There is plenty a lad like him could get up to in a city as diverse as Athens. It is something to think about, is it not?"

Hercules absently reached for his empty wine cup, gripping the rim tightly as he merely scowled in response.

* * *

The farm was situated to the north of Atlantis, just on the outskirts of the city, nestled beneath a gently sloping hill. It was one of three neighbouring properties, spread out amid rows and rows of barren fields, the soil turned in preparation for the following season. A stretch of dried vines stood in a bottom field in the lower farm, looking for all the world like an army of skeletal scarecrows, pinioned to their posts. It gave Jason a chill, looking out over such a bleak landscape, although the nature of winter itself created a natural feeling of desolation. The wind, for the most part that day mild and breezy, suddenly picked up and Jason drew the neck of his cloak tighter about him. Minos had not been prepared to let him make this visit yesterday, insisting instead that Jason spent time with his family, in particular, his mother. At the time, Jason had itched with impatience and an irrational feeling that the day's confinement was little more than a thinly veiled punishment for his earlier rudeness. Perhaps even for his refusal to acquiesce to the family's wishes.

But as he had sat with his mother that evening in her chambers and apologised with sincerity for his earlier harshness, he had been surprised by how much better he immediately felt; by how loving and forgiving she had been. They had sat together, long into the night, talking about this and that, about snippets of the past and about nothing at all. He had spoken freely and comfortably, recounting amusing stories, joking and teasing and laughed as she had rolled her eyes in the right places and swatted his arm in mock chastisement for some of his descriptions. It had been an unexpectedly good night. Finally, on seeing his eyes drooping and his head start to lean against her shoulder, she had packed him off to bed with a fond laugh and a warm kiss goodnight.

Ahead of him stood a modest farm house, a plume of smoke steadily rising from within. A boy of about six years old was struggling to carry a bucket of water from a nearby well into the house and the contents sloshed over the rim as he walked, leaving a muddy trail behind him. For a moment, Jason wondered if he should offer to help. Minos had instructed him to act according to his station – at least his position within the court – but surely _anyone_ would offer to help a small child, regardless of their wealth? But in the end, it was not his position that held Jason back – it was the look of determination and pride on the young boy's face as he neared his front door. Jason smiled to himself. The job belonged to that boy and it was obviously something that the child fully intended to do himself without any adult interference. He watched the child put the bucket down with a faint huff, open the door and then drag the bucket through behind him as he went inside.

Jason glanced about. There was a large barn to the left of him and what looked like a wooden cowshed a little further ahead where the sound of snorting, stamping oxen could be heard. But he couldn't see or hear the woman, Despina, within them. Besides, logic told him she would be in the house, waiting for her son and the water he was bringing. As Jason picked a path through the less muddy patches towards the house, he couldn't help noticing a small collection of wooden hoes and ploughs, leant up against a series of small huts. They were all broken or worn out – badly patched up with rope bindings where possible but the repairs were either hastily done or else completed to the best of an unskilled hand's ability. Jason sighed. He was no farmer, but he was good with his hands and had always been adept at cobbling things together and mending and repairing contraptions. Those basic tools wouldn't take long to fix properly. However, that probably _was_ overstepping his bounds, at least in his current role and his promise to his stepfather sat heavily in the back of his mind. But perhaps he could persuade either Pythagoras or Hercules to offer a hand? Presuming the lady wouldn't take offence to the offer of help?

As he reached the front door, Jason raised his hand to knock but sprung back immediately as the door suddenly swung open and, in a blur of movement, the child scurried out, narrowly missing being knocked flat on his back by the far more substantial form of Jason. At once, the boy skidded to a halt with a startled squeak, staring up wide-eyed at Jason. His mother was there in an instant, her hands resting protectively on her son's shoulders, though she frowned down at the lad all the same. Jason was instantly struck with the impression that the speed at which her son often exited the house was a regular matter of discussion. With a faintly amused inward smile, Jason recognised the same exasperated yet fond frown that Pasiphae often wore around _him_.

"Hello," Jason greeted her as the woman looked up at him, hard suspicion in her eyes yet just the right side of hostile for the time being. Her gaze roamed over his red tunic, modestly trimmed in a gold-threaded pattern around the collar, visible beneath his thick cloak and something in her expression shifted to a different kind of hesitation even as she straightened a little and clearly tried to look a little more presentable. Her grip on her son tightened almost imperceptibly.

The woman's wariness mixed with her attempts to show due deference made him feel incredibly guilty and awkward and, not for the first time that day, Jason tried not to feel uncomfortable in his formal clothing or resent his parents too strongly for their stringent stipulations. Neither Minos nor Pasiphae had been prepared to let him make this visit in his 'street clothes' – Pasiphae hadn't even wanted him to go at all, given the cough that still rattled him every now and then and had been quite prepared to argue the point with him until he would have ended up locked in his chambers. Thankfully, Minos had interceded on his behalf and, taking his life in his own hands, overruled his wife on this particular matter. Despite this being his fourth day and technically one of his own choosing since he still was not quite well enough to make the journey to the Mines of Pangeon, it seemed his parents had managed to commandeer it, nonetheless. Still, this was something that he very much wanted to do and the farm was far away from the prying eyes of those he actively sought to avoid while dressed in such a way so that he did not mind _too_ much.

Clearing his throat, Jason tried to appear as non-threatening or imposing as possible, offering the woman what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'm sorry to disturb you but I've come from the King's Court and I wondered if I could speak to you for a moment?" He paused, noticing the mild flicker of panic in her eyes. "Has someone been to see you?" he asked, a touch uncertainly. "With notice that your case is due to be heard soon?" Wordlessly, the woman nodded and though she kept her eyes trained on Jason, her words were addressed to her young son.

"Hector," she said quietly. "Go and play in the barn for a while. But do not make a mess or spoil your clothes," she added as she sent the lad running off with a pat to his back. The child turned at the door to the barn, giving Jason a quizzical look. Jason tried to smile at him but a stern nod from his mother sent the child hurrying into the barn. Jason watched him go, grateful that she seemed to relax a fraction now that the child was out of the way. Or was it because he was now safe from him? The thought made Jason both angry and unsettled but he tried not to let it show on his face.

Finally, after making sure the boy was not re-emerging any time soon, she turned her look back to Jason and he could clearly see the weariness in her expression, mingling with the hard lines of resentment and fear. "You'd better come in then," she muttered, indicating the house with an inclination of her head, already turning towards the door. She did not wait for a response but stepped back through into her house, holding the door for Jason to follow.

Once inside, Jason took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. By comparison, Hercules' home was bright and airy, to say nothing of the warm glow of the Palace as the lamps would catch the fiery reds on the terracotta walls. The smoke in the room hung a little too thickly in the air, making his chest prickle in irritation and his throat constrict. But as he gradually adjusted to the environment, Jason took stock of his surroundings. The room was modest but homely – a fairly large space though comprised of only one room. The fireplace dominated the far wall, crackling pleasantly. An iron pot hung over it and several flowers and herbs hung nearby, drying. The furnishings were simple but practical: a wooden table with two low benches; a high-backed chair near the fire and in the corners of the room, two low wooden bed-frames. A thin curtain partitioned off a small portion of the room though since it was drawn, Jason had no idea what lay behind it.

Suddenly realising that he had spent a little too long staring around the room, rather than paying attention to his host, Jason turned back to the woman. She was perhaps in her early thirties, Jason would have estimated, though something about the lines across her forehead and around her eyes gave her an older appearance. Her dark hair was pulled back behind her head in a sort of conical shape, bound up by a simple blue cloth. She stared at him with sad, determined eyes.

Jason cleared his throat. "You've got a lovely home."

She pointedly ignored his comment. "I invited you in so that my son didn't see this. But if Dimitri sent you – if you're here to try and threaten me and bully me out of my home you can just leave now."

Jason narrowed his eyes in concern. "I told you: I'm from the Court."

She snorted. "Just the kind of place Dimitri would find his hired help."

Jason frowned. "I don't know Dimitri – I promise you. Has someone been around here, threatening you?" The thought that anyone in Minos' employee would be a thug for hire, going around threatening women and children made his blood boil even if it didn't entirely surprise him. However he was pretty damned sure his stepfather would feel the same. But Despina didn't answer. She folded her arms tightly across her middle though her eyes were starting to soften.

"I put nothing past him. If you are not sent by him, then why are you here? I already have my summons."

For a moment, Jason was at a loss of what to say. Why _was_ he here? He wasn't supposed to give her an unfair advantage but was he to do nothing when every instinct he had told him that something was wrong here. "It's just standard custom," he began, awkwardly. "To make sure you're prepared for Court. For us to get a little more background information." It technically wasn't true and for a moment, Jason worried he would be jeopardising the case if this came out. But hadn't Minos himself given Jason advice on what would help her defence? Wasn't it alright to at least tell her that? The woman regarded him more curiously now that she had decided that whatever he was, he wasn't a threat.

A sharp, wheezing cough from behind the thin curtain suddenly drew their attention.

"Who is that?" Jason asked, trying to see through a tiny crack between the curtain and the wall. She sighed heavily and drew the curtain back, revealing a white-haired man, lying on a relatively comfortable-looking bed. He was half asleep, half awake, tossing gently from side to side. Though clearly sick, he at least appeared vaguely at rest.

"My father. When my husband died, my father legally became my protector. The farm is in his name and my son and I are in his care. But as you can see, he is old and weak and frequently becomes ill. I take care of the farm. I care for us all." She sighed once more and sank down onto one of the wooden benches by the table. Jason took a few steps towards the old man, watching the rise and fall of his frail chest in concern.

"Does he need a healer?"

Despina shook her head, pride beginning to surface in her voice. "We _have_ medicine." She indicated the herbs drying by the fire. "I know a little of the arts and can usually produce a tonic or a poultice that helps him." Suddenly, she grew harder, cautious. "I only make things that _heal_. That is all." Jason shook his head and smiled, reassuringly.

"I have a friend who does the same. Our kitchen looks a lot like this. He's very good at what he does. If you ever need any extra help, I'm sure he would do it. You shouldn't have to do everything by yourself." He suddenly recalled the broken farm tools. "Don't you have anyone who helps you here?" This was a large farm. No one person, man _or_ woman, could look after it alone. Despina glanced down at the table with a soft, embarrassed laugh.

"We have had some, yes. But lately, with recent…problems, they have decided to move on to other pastures." She held up a hand when she saw Jason open his mouth with a clear intention of protesting. "We don't need much help in the winter months. It's mainly a question of repairing damaged equipment and preparing for Spring tilling. When that time comes, it will be easy to hire day labourers from the market." Her smile faded. "There are always those who value a day's wages higher than stigma and scandal. If I am even still here, then."

"You can't give up." Jason's abrupt outburst made her look up in surprise and he felt himself flush at her quizzical look.

"You said you wanted more information?" she asked, indicating with one hand that Jason should sit on the second bench. Once he was seated next to her, remembering just too late not to fold his arms on the flour-covered tabletop, Jason nodded.

"What's the basis for your neighbour's claim?"

"When my husband passed from the sweating fever, Dimitri and I lived companionably beside each other for almost a year. We have been neighbours for over ten years now. But recently, over the Summer, his crops began to die. A field at a time, one by one."

"The whole field?"

"No. But large areas – scattered here and there. I offered him help. So did the other farm that neighbours ours. I offered him the use of our workers to re-plough his land, of our spare grain to re-plant if he could though it was probably too late in the season. I even offered him the use of one of my own fields if his soil was bad. But he did not accept my help. A man like him does not like his pride battered by the help of a woman so I left him to his business. He is an experienced farmer and does not need my advice."

Jason listened carefully, leaning in slightly towards her and Despina found herself touched by such honest attention and caring, despite her best intentions to remain detached. There was something about the compassion in those dark eyes that chipped away at the brittle defences that she had recently been forced to erect. Her own friends and neighbours had turned their backs on her and yet here was this total stranger willing to hear her out.

"And that's it?" Jason asked, faintly surprised at the lack of substance to the claims. Despina shook her head, sadly.

"_His_ crops died and _mine_ lived."

"But what proof does he have that you had anything to do with it? Besides being the land that borders his?" He stopped himself just in time from telling her just how ridiculous and baseless he thought these claims were: that would be to go against the direct wishes of Minos but it was becoming harder and harder to keep his word to the king.

He watched Despina's eyes harden. "He is man of some influence and he has gathered the testimony of other men in the village to swear to the same accusations of magic being used against him."

"But there's no proof!"

"There doesn't need to be proof where a man can accuse a woman. His word will always be held above hers." She sighed wearily and ran a tired hand across her face. "Sometimes I think it would be easier if I left of my own accord. To spare my son the trial. If I lose, we will be turfed out of our home; shunned from place to place. That is no life for my son. There may even be those would seek to take my boy away from me. I lie awake at night and I wonder if the risk is worth it."

And Jason's mind turned for a moment to Minos' words, how he had voiced the same opinion. Reluctantly, he admitted: "If you truly feel that way, I know the king would be willing to offer you some compensation for your land but I'm asking you to give it a little more time before giving up. I believe justice will be done, if you're just willing to stick it out for a little longer."

With a rueful smile, Despina reached over and gently squeezed the fingers of the hand that still rested on the table. "I have not lost my spirit yet. I will give it more time. But I'm not sure why you care so much."

Jason carefully withdrew his hand from beneath hers and looked down, embarrassed. "It's just my job," he muttered. "I want to make sure things are done properly, fairly. I'll try and look in to things a little more carefully for you – I mean, for the case." Then he quickly rose. "I'd better go. Thanks for seeing me." He paused as he reached the door and turned back, with a smile. "I hope your son's not in too much of a mess by the time he comes back in."

She laughed, her eyes seeming much brighter than they had been at the start of his visit. "I'm sure he is. Thank you for coming to see me."

Jason smiled back at her in response before slipping through the door and closing it softly behind him. The evening would be approaching by the time he made it back to the Palace and he had promised his parents that he would return in time for the meal. But he promised _himself_ that at his next opportunity, he would return to this place and look more closely at what was going on in this Dimitri's farm.

* * *

Putting the last of the state petitions to bed for the evening, Minos stretched, drained his wine cup and rose from his desk. His personal servant immediately moved in from where he had been hovering at a respectful distance and removed the vessel. Minos nodded briefly to the man.

"I shall not need you any more tonight, Samnos," he informed him with a small smile. "Once my chambers are prepared for the evening, you may retire." His servant nodded and bowed.

"As you wish, Your Highness. Good night." He left the room quickly to complete his final task and ensure the fire was lit in the king's chambers, water brought for washing and the bed turned down. His own bed was calling after a long day and perhaps his own cup of sweet wine, too.

Dusk had rapidly turned into night outside and the king had no intentions of working till the small hours of the morning this time. Lately, it seemed all he did was attend to the needs of his people and listen to the advice and griping of his various courtiers and ministers. And that was important, he reasoned. His people in the city served him loyally and deserved his dedication to duty. His advisors…well, when they weren't playing for favours or bickering amongst themselves like errant children they too were all men he could depend upon to deploy his wishes to the people and to counsel him in times of crisis. But in recent weeks he had barely seen his family – even meal times were never a sure thing as the demands on his time and indeed, on the time of his wife, meant that meals were often taken in their private chambers instead of in the dining room.

He had made it a point to attend today's evening meal though. Jason had, to his faint surprise, returned from his farm visit in time for supper. He had, he realised with a touch of guilt, already prepared his mild lecture for the lad on his tardiness and yet another meal missed. But it was without cause as it turned out. With a smile, Minos considered the extra day they had had with the boy: it was unusual but something he could get used to if Jason felt so inclined. There was a certain…_levity_ that prevailed inside the Palace walls when the boy was home – a breath of life. It lit up his daughter – that much was obvious and a kind of _warmth_ came over his wife. Jason's anger and resentment towards Aeson had abated some time ago now. In fact, the young man was looking forward to seeing his father again, if only to finally clear the air between them. But while his health was still not what it should be for a fit young man his age, the journey was too great a distance. Normally it was Pasiphae who protested the strain the travelling put on her son but in this instance, Minos felt determined to back his wife, if necessary should the lad attempt to make the journey in his condition. However, it appeared Jason concurred with his mother and, the king thought grimly, for Jason to admit to any kind of weakness in front of them spoke volumes to him. If only the lad could be persuaded to willingly spend more of his time with them. If nothing else, Jason was a quick learner and soaked up the tasks he was gradually introduced to. _What_ they might accomplish if the boy could give them more time…

However, he thought with a gentle sigh, Jason already gave them time enough and perhaps it was these days left to his own devices, carefree in the companionship of his friends, that made him such an invigorating spirit? Would living in the Palace every day stifle something vital within him? A part of Minos wholly wanted to believe that they could foster and nurture the role of leadership within the young man, paving his way to kingship while still keeping his essence – his spirit - the same. But what if they could not? Losing what made Jason _Jason_ felt like too high a price to pay.

But in any event, that time was not upon them yet and his mind turned to his last task before turning in. Jason may not know it but he was much more like his mother than he realised and Minos was actually quite adept at getting taciturn, close-guarded individuals to open up to him. Leaving his council chambers, Minos determined to take a strategic wander of the Palace. He could send a servant to find the boy but for what he wanted to do, it was important to find him himself.

And find him he did, eventually, heading towards his bedchamber. Minos felt a touch guilty for the distraction he was about to play: the boy looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and had clearly been heading for his bed. But, with any luck, this should not take too long.

"Jason," he called as he approached from the opposite end of the corridor. "A word, if you have a moment?" He watched a flicker of wide-eyed panic grip the boy as the lad obviously mentally ran through a list of possible misdemeanours and the king could not help but smile. He could well imagine the sort of childhood his stepson had had where he might well have had a pool of several minor misdemeanours to choose from at frequent intervals. Ah! He would have been a lively one to raise, though Minos would have enjoyed the challenge immensely. With a soft laugh, he put the boy at his ease:

"You have done nothing wrong, Jason." Jason flushed with embarrassment as Minos continued. "I know you are wanting your bed but I should very much like to show you something. It will not take long." He held out one hand, indicating the way he had just come and Jason's curiosity piqued.

"Of course," he replied, following where the king began to lead. "I'm never too tired for a good mystery."

"Indeed," Minos remarked, one eyebrow raised as Jason grinned beside him.

He could see from Jason's face when they entered the North Tower that the boy had not been expecting to end up here. Jason glanced at him warily as they stood by the maritime fresco in the entrance way.

"Acrion isn't hiding here somewhere for another round of Translation, is he?" Minos laughed and placed a hand on Jason's shoulder.

"I do not imagine he will get much out of you at this time of night."

Jason snorted. "He doesn't get much out of me during the day, either."

"Well do not tell your mother that," the king warned lightly. "No, I wish to show you a room up ahead. I do not believe you have seen it before. It is a quiet room of reflection and it is private – only for the family." For a moment he watched Jason look to him in hesitation, concern in his eyes and an objection forming on his lips and he sighed. His hand on his stepson's shoulder squeezed firmly, daring the lad to object: "And you have every right to see it. Now come."

Still a little cautious, but curious all the same, Jason followed Minos further down the hallway until they came to a door set into the left-hand side of the wall. The king produced a key and slipped it into the lock, turning it with a click. It opened, Jason saw while peering over the king's shoulder, onto another small corridor. He was surprised to see sconces burning in the wall brackets. Clearly, this had been prepared ahead of their visit as he could see no other way for a hallway to be lit behind a locked door. Besides, no-one as far as he knew, used the North Tower after dusk.

As Minos reached the end of the second hallway, he stepped through into a larger room and Jason followed a moment later. That room was also well lit with torches burning on the walls, though a little chilly at this time of night. It was unfurnished, save for a few low couches and tables around the outside. In the centre of the tiled, mosaic floor was a round reflecting pool though of course, only the flicker of torch light danced in the dark water now. Jason's mouth hung open a little as he stepped closer to it. Even at night, it gave him chills. Beside him, Minos took a lantern from a small table by the door, lit it and handed it to Jason with an encouraging nod. Looking up at the arched ceiling, he saw a glass skylight directly above the water, waiting for the morning sun to shine through and catch the water beneath in a glimmering, dappling show of light.

"It's beautiful," he murmured, unsure if he was commenting to Minos or to himself. The king quietly stepped up beside him.

"Thank you. I like to think so. Many years ago, before you were born, this room used to provide storage for the various gifts that visiting dignitaries used to bestow upon the Royal Household and for the occasional piece of furniture that was no longer deemed to be in fashion." Looking about at the calm serenity of the room now, he smiled a little wistfully. "But after the war, your mother and I sought to reclaim a little peace within the Palace and I wished for somewhere…_fresh_. Somewhere where the family might reclaim a little solitude and contemplation and rest."

"Like a haven," Jason supplied, still glancing deep into the pool. He could just about make out the glint of crystals at the bottom, interspersed with rocks and tiny floating flowers. More tiled mosaic patterns lined the outer rim – leaping dolphins and mythical mermaids. He suddenly became aware of the sound of steadily trickling water and looked around. There was no fountain in the pool – its waters were as still as a mill pond. Sensing the boy's question, Minos said:

"The corners of the room each contain a different fountain built into the wall. The light is not as good as it should be but you should still be able to make them out." Eagerly, Jason moved away to do just that and Minos watched him go with a fond shake of his head. Jason scanned the four corners, peering a little more intently into the slightly gloomier depths until the carved stone shapes emerged more clearly. They were all the heads of different creatures, water trickling from a hole in its mouth, into a bowl below and then spilling down into the drain on the floor: a griffin, a bull, a phoenix and a sphinx. Jason grinned. He'd been to the British Museum once on a school trip and he'd seen plenty of statues in the Ancient Greek wings. But they had all been naturally weathered by age or missing noses and ears and eyes. It was still something of a novelty to see them new and vibrant – every carving, every detail making their faces come alive.

He turned back to the king who had not moved to follow him. "They're amazing." The slight awe in his voice made Minos chuckle. "Is this what you wanted to show me?"

The king shook his head, beckoning Jason to return to him. Placing a hand on Jason's back, he guided them both to one of the walls and Jason looked about, expectantly. There were no statues or carvings to be seen: a couple of backless wooden benches with what looked like soft, embroidered seat-covers but he had seen dozens of their kind scattered throughout the Palace. He glanced apologetically to Minos, afraid that he was failing to be impressed by whatever Minos obviously thought highly of. "I'm sorry – I don't see it."

But far from taking offence, Minos simply pointed straight ahead. "Hold your lantern up higher," he instructed. "It is the walls that I wish you to see." Feeling a little foolish for not realising this to begin with, Jason did as instructed, holding the light out in-front of him and stepping closer to the white stone walls. The moment he did, his jaw once more dropped in faint amazement. What he had first taken for more nautically-themed frescoes now peered back at him in the form of people, standing together in all their regal splendour. It only took a moment for Jason to recognise the figures of Minos himself, with Pasiphae by his side. He eagerly scanned across the painting to find Ariadne, instinctively knowing the princess would be there. He found her immediately, her beauty - even in a cold, hard wall – staring back at him, lighting the stone.

Quickly, Jason moved further along the walls going from one to the other, faintly running his fingertips over the surface as he trailed the family through the ages. Not every part of the room was covered: three walls each held one portrait and still left room for more. But those that he saw made him stare in wonder. They were life-sized and though the artistry of the time lacked the detail and realism of the portraits he was used to seeing while growing up, each person's individual features was unmistakable. A young man stood amongst them in two of the gatherings. His olive skin, strong jaw and dark complexion was unmistakable – as was his resemblance to both Minos and Ariadne. Jason considered the young prince Therus had once been here, standing tall, bold and loved amongst his family – at least for the time being - his father's hand resting proudly on his shoulder. Moving back, the adolescent regressed to a young boy, maybe ten years old. His sister, Ariadne, little more than a babe in arms, rested on the lap of a woman, seated on a high-backed chair. With a start, Jason realised it was his mother. Though he had recognised her in the later portraits, it still surprised him to see her being so…_motherly_ to a young Ariadne.

He held the light a little closer to her face, hoping to see a trace of the woman he knew as the young, striking woman she must have been. But the features were too simple, he realised sadly. Pivoting, he looked about the whole room, seemingly forgetting that Minos still stood in the centre, watching him carefully. A pang of melancholy struck him: how he had taken for granted the cameras, social media and filming of his time – the ability to capture a memory, share it, record it forever whether it was worthy of recalling or not. His old friends had _hundreds_ of memories at their fingertips – their childhoods, step by step, their parents' weddings, their grandparents. It wasn't fair. These paintings were beautiful but crude – they couldn't capture the nuances of a smile, the subtleness of a personality or a memory as it unfolded. They were a static representation of a time past and they would fade and crumble, as all things did. In this day and age, a moment past was a moment lost, only stories and legend keeping a person alive through the ages. And if Hercules' stories were anything to go by, each re-telling became more and more embellished until who knew how much of the original subject survived?

But this was the best record of his family that he was going to get and so Jason savoured every inch of it. When he finally registered that Minos was now standing beside him, the young man realised he had no idea how long the king had been there. But apparently, his stepfather was willing to wait – to give him the time he needed to take in his surroundings. Jason slowly turned to him, hesitation in his eyes. "These are the paintings?" he asked, warily. Minos nodded.

"I wanted you to see them. The first was done almost two years after the war. From then on, every five years. You have seen your mother in them?" Jason nodded, unsure of where exactly this was going but having a very uneasy feeling that he had been tricked – that he was going to be backed into a wall. "Have you looked at her closely?" Minos' question surprised him.

"I think so," he answered. Minos nodded, thoughtfully.

"What do you notice?"

Sensing that he had missed something important and been caught out in his answer, Jason paled a little and quickly moved back to scrutinise the paintings more closely, beginning with the wall by the entrance. "In every portrait," the king went on, "we each carry some token of significance to us."

Now that he knew to look out for smaller details, the objects became apparent. They changed as time had worn on: a flower; a sword; a necklace. In Ariadne's youngest picture – the one where she must have been about three years old - she clasped a tiny, wooden doll in one hand. Jason smiled.

Seeing that Jason had completed his second tour of the paintings, Minos asked: "You see them?" Jason nodded. "What do you see about your mother?" Curiously, Jason looked again. He hadn't really noticed anything about Pasiphae. Therus had a book and then a sword; Minos his crown, a pendant, a golden breastplate. Besides Ariadne's doll, he saw a lily and a small white cat. He wondered briefly at whatever had happened to it because there was no evidence of a cat around the Palace. But for Pasiphae…

"She's the only one without anything," he answered, turning back to the king. With a knowing expression, Minos approached him and gently took the lantern from him, holding it up closer to the wall.

"That is not entirely true. Look here," he indicated, "at her hair." Jason did so.

"There's a small blue cloth tied to it," he answered. It seemed a very mundane detail but Minos smiled and nodded.

"And now look closely at this one." He moved over to the next painting, holding up the lantern again and Jason followed, examining it carefully. His eyes widened slightly as he spotted it again.

"Oh, I see it. It's tied around her belt. I didn't notice it."

"Your mother never makes mention of it – certainly not to me. But she has worn it in every portrait. It is always discrete, but it is always there."

"What is it?" Jason wondered.

At this, Minos' smile became sadder. "It comes from the silk covering that lay over your crib, on top of the blanket."

Jason turned his eyes from the painting, to Minos, his eyebrows raised curiously. "How do you know, if she never mentions it?"

The king chuckled and Jason's curiosity grew, along with his confusion. "I had seen it many times," Minos answered, his expression, for a moment, far away. "You and Ariadne shared the same nursery. Sometimes I would sit and watch you both sleeping – it was calming after such demanding days."

Minos' eyes glinted in amusement as he watched Jason's eyes widen. "You would continually throw the covering to the floor and then fuss until someone picked it up and gave it back to you. It was a game you seemed to enjoy. And invariably you _always_ awoke when I entered the nursery, no matter how quiet I was. I was afraid you would cry and wake Ariadne because whenever you saw someone you _had_ to be picked up." He smiled, fondly at the memory, shaking his head. "Your mother would have had my head if she had known I was disturbing you children after you had been put down, Ah, but you were a good baby. I would sit in the nurse's chair and hold you on my lap, watching Ariadne sleeping, letting the world pass by without the worries and burdens of ruling a kingdom. It was never too long before you fell asleep once more."

As Minos had spoken, Jason had watched him with a sense of increasing confusion and wonder. He looked at his stepfather anew. "But I didn't realise you knew me before I left Atlantis."

Minos raised his eyebrows in surprise, a frown creasing his forehead. "Did your father or mother never mention the details of your…_departure_?" Jason shook his head, still staring wide-eyed at the king as his heart beat a little faster in his chest. "You were nearing a year old when I first met you, Jason and your father did not come for you straight away. It was about another year again before you were taken."

"Why did he wait so long?" Jason wondered and then, seeing the way Minos' expression fell, just fractionally, he felt guilty for even asking the question. But the king did not appear to have taken offence in his reply:

"I do not know, Jason. These things take time to prepare, I suppose. You will have to ask him when you next visit."

Silently, Jason nodded, looking down to the floor. Were things stable enough between Aeson and him to risk such a personal topic? Generally speaking, he did not like to remind his father of the events that saw him thrown out of his own kingdom, losing his wife and son along with his crown. That Minos referred to these events as 'the war' rather than the usurpation or uprisings had not escaped his notice. But Jason had quickly realised that it was almost intolerable to dwell too heavily on past wrongs. He could easily be consumed by them. This was the nature of the lives they led. His stomach clenched at the thought of broaching such a conversation. Maybe in a little while? Once they had cleared the air about their earlier spat and were back once more on even footing.

"When you disappeared," Minos continued, softly, startling Jason out of his thoughts, "Pasiphae had your crib, your toys, your clothes destroyed. She must have kept the cloth, however. I did not question her when I recognised it, hanging from her belt, during our first family portrait. I understood: this was her way of keeping you with her. With us." With a wide sweep of his hand, he encompassed the years of gatherings. "You see, Jason? This year is not the first time you would have sat amongst our family. You have been with us all along, in every portrait."

The king placed a warm hand on Jason's shoulder and squeezed, gently. If he noticed the moisture that had welled in his stepson's eyes, he did not draw attention to it. Instead, he leaned in a little closer to the boy and spoke very quietly, as Jason involuntarily swallowed hard. "I _do_ respect your choice not to join us. It must perhaps feel overwhelming? But I wanted you to know, that even if you are not here in person, your mother will never leave you out." He hesitated a moment. "I imagine," he continued softly, "that this year, she hoped she would not have need of this cloth again but I am certain she will use it, if she has to."

Jason said nothing. Words catapulted around his mind. His chest felt bruised and battered. Minos watched his impassive face, staring hard at the wall straight ahead: transfixed. He moved the hand on the boy's shoulder to briefly squeeze the nape of his neck. "Are you ready to return with me?" he asked, replacing his hand by his side.

Mutely, Jason shook his head.

Equally silently, Minos handed him the lantern which Jason accepted automatically. "Then I shall take my leave of you and retire to my bed. It has been a long day for us all."

As Minos reached the door, he turned to look back at where Jason still stood, lost in his thoughts. "I shall send a servant in to extinguish the torches and lock the door so do not worry about that before you leave. Take the lantern with you though – the path back to our wing is not so well lit. Do not stay up too long," he advised.

Jason barely heard the man leave. His thoughts were lost amongst cold, hard portraits, confusing families and a little scrap of blue cloth.

* * *

That's it for now. I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

Five of Swords – standard disclaimer applies.

A/N: Yes, it has been *that* long since I last updated this and I am sincerely sorry. Some of you may know that I've recently had a baby (who arrived earlier than expected) and so my plans to finish this chapter (and indeed, make a fair headway into to finishing the whole _story_) before he arrived, were shot to pieces. But here the chapter is, for all it's worth. I'm sorry it's not quite what I would have liked to produce but finding the time to write has been very difficult lately. I only hope people can still enjoy it. Thank you so much to everyone who has either reviewed or p.m'd me to keep encouraging me to continue. They haven't fallen on deaf ears and I really do appreciate all your comments. Now, on with the show…

**Chapter 7**

When Jason awoke the next morning it felt as if his head had only just touched the pillow. He had not passed the best night's sleep, only leaving the North Tower when Minos' servant arrived to lock up the room. He had of course offered to return later when Jason was finished but there was no way that Jason intended to delay the poor man from his rest. Besides, time had spun away from him and he truly hadn't intended to remain as late as he had. As he was not officially required to be at the Palace today (or indeed the day before) Jason was under no obligation to remain until midday. That was good, he decided. He had spent a night of soul-searching and of re-evaluating truths he had taken for granted and he was still dancing around his decision, taking one step forwards and two steps back. A quick breakfast with his family would be tolerable and then he would be on his way.

Hercules and Pythagoras, assuming they had reasoned that he had stayed at the Palace yesterday, would not be expecting him back until midday anyway, so he had time to complete his first investigation of Dimitri's farm. It would have to be quick but it would be good to at least get an idea for himself of what was going on. In order to preserve his identity as a Court Advisor, he could not allow Despina to see him in his ordinary clothes. That meant approaching the man's farm from the opposite direction. It would take a little longer but despite his mother's lingering doubts, he really was starting to feel much better and the hike would not harm him. With any luck, he thought to himself with a smile, he would be fit enough to make the journey to Aeson next week.

Jason arrived at the dining hall and noted with some relief that only Ariadne sat at the table. He quickly slid in to his seat beside her and learnt that Pasiphae had begun her duties early that morning and that Minos _had_ been present but had been suddenly called away on a matter of urgent State business. As Jason enjoyed some quiet time with Ariadne, he felt a little guilty knowing he was planning to leave without saying goodbye to his parents. But it would not be long until he saw them again. So, asking Ariadne to make his apologies and his farewells for him, Jason quickly finished his meal, stole a discrete goodbye kiss from Ariadne as the servants had mercifully left the room and slipped out of the Palace.

In the end, Jason had to end up passing through the town anyway and hoped neither of his friends spotted him and asked him what he was doing. He desperately wanted to be able to tell them but he had been strictly instructed not to discuss the case with anyone outside the Palace. Perhaps asking them roundabout questions wouldn't hurt? They probably knew farming better than he did, after all. But certainly bringing them to the farms in question would be a clear violation of his promise. Jason, by now, had a decent lay of the land as far as the immediate area around the city and the surrounding landscape went. There may have been a quicker way to reach Dimitri's farm but Jason achieved it by cutting through the woods on the edge of the city and approaching the hill from the other side. Besides, that led him directly onto the man's fields, which is where he wanted to be. He didn't much fancy walking straight through the farm house and the slaves and servant's quarters. He got the feeling that a man like Dimitri would not take too kindly to strangers. With a rueful frown he realised that in actuality, his status within Minos' court provided him far easier access for entering a stranger's property than he possessed in his current guise. Keeping his two identities clear in his head was starting to become more complicated than he thought it would be.

The fields were empty when he arrived – no workers or animals or any sign of the farmer himself. Given the fields were ploughed and, for the most part, appeared barren he hadn't really expected anyone to be there. But he was grateful to be able to proceed without any hassle. The last thing he wanted to do was encounter a farmer's angry guard dog. There were three large fields in total – most of them looked as though they had been subdivided into different crops. All of them looked desolate. Further in the distance the field of dead vines – presumably too much trouble to clear at the moment – stood as a sombre witness to whatever had happened here. As Jason trudged up and down the muddy rows of the fields, he looked about for any kind of a clue.

Frustratingly, he realised that he really didn't know what sort of signs he was looking for. There were no crops to examine and he didn't know enough about farming to know what _else_ he should be looking out for. He didn't even know about signs of witchcraft. Not that he believed Despina had anything to do with it, but he might have at least assured Minos that he couldn't see any evidence of it being used. Or maybe, if it was there, it had been planted by somebody else? He stopped with a sharp sigh. It was utterly useless to waste his energy concocting different theories when he had no way of knowing what he was looking for anyway.

_I suppose I could ask Pasiphae_, he thought with a dark chuckle but quickly thought better of the idea.

The hill rose to one side of him and Jason absently began to climb up it, stowing the bottle back into his bag as he went. Perhaps a better view of the land would help? It was steeper than he had first thought and muddy too – the terrain slipped a little under him. But when he felt he was high enough, Jason stopped and looked back over the farm. It all looked very much the same: one bleak landscape. With a sigh Jason sank down onto the ground. This was ridiculous. There were people far better suited to this than him, only he wasn't allowed to ask them!

A gust of wind picked up around him tousling his hair and flapping out the edges of his cloak. His gaze was drawn once more to the rows of dead vines, feebly clinging to their posts. They may be dead but they might be a good starting point. Anything was better than sitting on a hill and staring uselessly out over the barren terrain. The young man stood and began to descend the hill, slipping now and then into a run as the mud shifted and gradient became sharper. Landing neatly at the foot of the hill, Jason trotted across the land and over to the vineyards. Overhead, clouds began to gather – an ominous, swirling blanket of light grey. Once more the wind picked up, rattling the tops of the tall pine trees. Another storm coming in? Jason hoped not. Iphicles would never be able to sail away at this rate if the seas remained as tempestuous as they were. As much as Jason wanted to be hospitable and as much as he found the man to be inoffensive and pleasant enough company, he still longed for his own bed back and to once again enjoy the company of his friends without intrusion. A niggle of guilt hit him: was that really fair? Hercules and Iphicles hadn't seen each other for so many years – who was he to begrudge them their reunion? But then, he wondered, which one of the brothers was actually _enjoying_ their visit? He'd never _seen_ Hercules so tense and distracted and snappy and Iphicles had such an austere aura about him that even when he _did_ crack a joke, it seemed dangerous to laugh at it.

The harsh cawing of crows suddenly made Jason jump. He looked up, sharply. Six large, black birds sat lining the row of vines ahead of him, their shiny eyes watching him intently. One or two shifted from foot to foot but the rest stayed perfectly still only their gleaming eyes tracking him. Jason felt his skin prickle and shivered. The nearest one to him cawed again. Hoping this wasn't to turn in to a scene from the Alfred Hitchcock film he'd seen once, Jason continued on past the birds, trying not to eye them warily as he walked by. Their heads turned as he walked but other than that, the birds stayed mercifully still.

For what seemed like an age, Jason trudged up and down the dead rows until his feet began to ache, occasionally kicking larger chunks of stone out of his path. He absently ran his hands up and down the vine stems and toed the ground around him for anything unusual. The tops of his boots came out a rich, dark colour and when he saw this, Jason frowned a little. Casting a quick glance around the rest of the vineyard the soil was spotted with small darker patches. The ploughed fields however bore no sign of it.

Reaching a hand into his leather bag, Jason withdrew a small ceramic flask that he had temporarily removed that morning from the kitchens. It _had_ contained a few herbs that he had quickly emptied onto the grass outside the kitchen door and hoped they wouldn't be missed. Now, Jason un-stoppered the little cork from the bottle's neck and knelt down to scoop up some of the dark soil. He was no scientist but perhaps Pythagoras could tell him something? A slightly odd aroma hung in the air for a moment as Jason inquisitively sniffed at it.

A far off barking made him pivot. Squinting in to the distance, Jason suddenly spotted several men and a couple of dogs heading down towards the fields from one of the outhouse huts. They had wooden hoes slung over their shoulders and they chatted amiably amongst themselves as they walked. They were still too far away to see their faces clearly but judging by their simple homespun garments, they were either servants, common labourers or slaves. Jason considered his options briefly: the dogs looked more playful than dangerous but that didn't mean they were trained to attack intruders. He might be able to talk his way around being where he shouldn't but if the men wanted trouble, it would either mean a fight, an arrest or convincing them that he was indeed, acting on behalf of the king's court. And in _any_ of those eventualities, Minos would _kill_ him. So would Pasiphae. Not _literally_, he admitted – not any more, thank the Gods. In fact, his mother would probably ensure that he never saw the inside of a prison cell again if she had any breath left in her. But by God, they would make his life hell.

No. Retreat was his only option. They were far enough away and intent on their conversation that the men had not noticed him. Quickly, Jason retraced his path to the woods, hugging the shadow of the hill line as he went. Once back within the cover of the trees, he hastily made for home. A few strategic, innocent questions to his friends would be called for. Not enough to give away confidential details, but certainly enough to give him a better understanding of things as they stood.

* * *

"There you are!" Hercules' booming voice rang out through their modest dwelling as soon as Jason opened the front door. He stopped in the doorway, one eyebrow raised at the impressive greeting as Hercules planted his hands on his hips and stood framing the door to his bedroom.

"Here I am," Jason agreed, holding wide his arms and grinning, impishly. Hercules glowered a little at the less than contrite response.

Coming through from the kitchen, Pythagoras caught Jason's look and they shared an eye-roll in unison. "Welcome home," Pythagoras said quietly, smiling at his friend. "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry enough," Jason agreed mildly, stepping into the house and shutting the door behind him.

"Good, because lunch is almost ready and the food basket that the Palace sent was especially indulgent this week." Jason snorted as dropped his bag just inside the door.

"Doesn't surprise me. This food they're bringing in for Poseideon is ridiculously fancy. I don't even recognise half of what they put on the table."

Hercules, apparently having decided to forgive Jason his lateness, wandered over to the kitchen and lifted the lid of one of the cooking pots, inhaling the aroma with a deep, satisfied sigh. "It's because you don't appreciate quality," he rumbled. "I'm actually far more suited to Palace life than you are." On seeing Hercules absently reach for one of the wooden ladles resting near the pot, Pythagoras quickly swept in to remove it from Hercules' hand before it made an unscheduled expedition into their lunch. Hercules frowned as he was promptly pushed out of the kitchen.

"I like to know what it is that I'm eating," Jason protested. "That's not too much to ask, is it? Honestly," he said, shaking his head. "I just asked for some bread and soup – it was sitting right there on the table. Suddenly everyone in the room looked at me like I'd grown another head, or something. Even the servers and they usually barely even _look_ at you."

"Bread and soup!" Hercules tsked, moving to stand beside Jason. "I thought they were breeding some _culture_ into you." Jason answered that assumption very succinctly by making a face at him. Hercules rolled his eyes. "My point is made." Then he suddenly seemed to notice the mud that encased Jason's boots and shook his head in exasperation. "You've been rolling with the pigs again?"

From where he stood in the kitchen, removing the pot from the fire, Pythagoras shot his older friend a mild look of disbelief. "I would hardly think that you are in a position to comment on personal hygiene. Nor," he added, after a moment's thought, "does it usually seem to bother you." He placed the pot down upon a thick cloth and bent to retrieve four bowls.

Ignoring Pythagoras with an affronted glare, Hercules automatically moved to take the bowls to the table, intercepting Jason's move to do the same with an outstretched arm and a warning look. "No you don't. You leave that be for the moment and go and change. Wash some of that grime off, while you're at it," he called as Jason shook his head with a rueful smile and wandered over to his makeshift bed and the small chest that harboured his spare clothes.

"You sound like my mother," the young man tossed over his shoulder even as he flumped down onto his bed and began to prise his muddy boots off, kicking them a short distance across the floor as he did so. Normally such articles of clothing were routinely shoved under his bed but, at least for the time being, that was no longer an option. Hercules, satisfied to see he was being obeyed on this particular matter, ignored Jason and his quips and addressed Pythagoras instead.

"Is Iphicles around or are we starting without him?"

"I suppose it hasn't occurred to you that we might _wait_ for him if he is not here? It will keep warm on the fire." The young mathematician sighed when he saw Hercules' frown, already knowing the answer. He had hoped, over the last week or so, that Hercules and his brother might reach an easier state of co-habitation. To a certain extent, they had. Hercules no longer looked as though he wanted to bolt from the room whenever his brother entered. The wariness and mistrust that habitually lingered in his expression whenever he looked upon Iphicles had also begun to abate. But there were still moments of awkward, prolonged tension between the two men, where either silence, impatient comments or downright juvenile pettiness made sharing their company an unpleasant affair. Honestly – they were grown men, approaching the wrong side of middle-aged but there were times when it seemed they still needed their mother to knock their heads together!

As it happened, however… "Thankfully there will be no need for drastic action. Your brother will be back any moment. He has left to dispose of the rubbish but that was nearly an hour ago."

Hercules grunted softly in response. The nearest dumping site at which household waste could be buried was a little over a mile outside the city gates and in weather such as this, the journey was always unpleasant. But for room and board, he thought, it was the least his brother could do for them.

A jug of wine sat in the middle of the table, along with a few simple drinking vessels and Hercules busied himself with pouring it out, dividing it between the four cups with more or less equality. A shuffling of footsteps and the creak of his bedroom door told him that Jason, now having divested himself of his more offensive garments, had wandered into his room to find the wash basin and jug of water. Hercules frowned. In weather such as this, he really should wash by the fire but Jason was still not as comfortable around Iphicles as he was around his friends and preferred the privacy that Hercules' room could afford him.

"You should heat that water up first," Hercules pointed out, calling to the closed door. "It'll be like a block of ice."

"It's fine," protested a muffled voice, followed moments later by a startled yelp of surprise. Hercules smiled smugly and shook his head.

"Told you so," he muttered softly to himself. He wandered over to stand nearer to his closed door, wine cup nestled securely in his beefy hand. "So what kept you yesterday?" he called out. The sound of hastily splashing water ended and was followed by a distant flump and an '_Oomph'_ as Jason presumably fell back onto his bed. For a moment, the wrestler had an image of the boy, tangled up in his own clothes and he smiled to himself. Then another thought occurred to him. Hercules narrowed his eyes. "You'd better not be getting mud on my bed," he warned.

"I'm not," Jason's voice came back to him, mildly affronted. A moment later and the door opened revealing a cleaner, if still mildly windswept Jason, his cheeks still ruddy and his brown curls firmly in disarray. He gave Hercules a lop-sided grin as he ran a hand through his hair.

"What happened to that comb I gave you?" Hercules asked, crossing back to the table and gathering up a second cup of wine from the amphora.

"I think I left it at the Palace," the young man shrugged. He gratefully accepted the cup Hercules offered him, taking a gulp of red wine and allowing the resulting warmth to flood his throat and chest. Pythagoras had obviously added just a touch of spice into the mix and its exotic flavours slightly heady in their nature, made him instantly relax. Hercules smiled softly.

"So what kept you?" the wrestler asked again, relieved to see a little warmth return to the lad's face.

"I had a few things I needed to finish up before I left," Jason answered. Hercules raised a curious, slightly suspicious eyebrow.

"Thought maybe they'd had you locked in the dungeons for bad table manners."

Jason scoffed. "Only if I'd been taking tips from you." Wandering over to the table, Jason sank down onto one of the wooden benches, placing his cup of wine on the table. He was forced to move it a moment later when Pythagoras returned to place the iron pot on the mat. Immediately, the rich smell of meat juices and fresh herbs wafted from beneath the lid, causing Jason's mouth to salivate. "Smells good," he commented with a smile.

Pythagoras shrugged. "It's easy when you have the right ingredients. A lot of these aren't even in season but I suppose the Palace has them shipped in." The young mathematician's words suddenly made Jason recall his earlier intention.

"Do you know much about farming?"

Pythagoras blinked in surprise. "Um, about as much as the next man, I suppose. Why do you ask?"

He watched Jason start to chew his bottom lip – a nervous habit his young friend had. Jason hesitated. "It's just something I'm curious about – a project I'm working on, up at the Palace." His expression fell into a guilty glance, from under his tousled brown curls. "I can't really explain properly – I'm sorry but I promised Minos."

Jason paused and held his breath, watching his friend's expression for any signs of hurt or anger. However, the young man simply smiled and shrugged. "I'm not offended if there are parts of your life that I do not know about. Our friendship does not necessitate knowing every detail of each other's affairs, after all. What do you need to know?"

Jason smiled at him, relieved and suddenly wondering how he could ever have thought Pythagoras could have been so petty about their friendship. In many ways his three lives were starting to find a comfortable convergence where Jason could relay events and experiences that overlapped and that might be shared even amongst absent friends. Ariadne enjoyed listening to some of the more amusing recounts of his time with his friends in the city, though Jason's selection of tales was always carefully chosen to begin with, omitting some of the escapades that were not best suited to the princess' ears (at least, certainly as far as her protective father was concerned). He often shared her reaction with his friends on his return and so it sometimes felt, when he looked back on certain memories, that she had been with them all along.

His mother _always_ asked him how the rest of his week had fared and nowadays, Jason rarely held anything back as Pasiphae appeared to have reached a certain peace regarding her son's other lives. Only details that might earn him a reproach were omitted from his weekly recounts: Pasiphae had proven on more than one occasion that if she strongly objected to his behaviour (usually when it involved some form of recklessness) that it didn't matter _where_ he had been living when the crime was committed, he would still answer to her. And his father? Aside from his life at the Palace which would always, he suspected, be taboo, there wasn't a _thing_ Jason wasn't free to talk about including his life before arriving in Atlantis.

And yet, Jason harboured a strong suspicion that the more time he spent at the Palace, the more integrated he became in the lives of the Royal family, the more he would encounter situations where the divide between what he could share with his friends and what he couldn't became harder and harder to breech. He hated the thought that it might subtly change him, distance him. It made him run cold. His friends meant more to him than any errand that the king might assign him. But as long as Pythagoras and Hercules took no offence, as long as it didn't hurt them, then Jason saw no harm in it.

Jason withdrew the small flask of soil from the pouch on his belt. Pythagoras accepted it with a question in his eyes, un-stoppering it and peering inside. "Soil?" he asked. Jason nodded as Hercules moved over to listen in.

"I just wondered if there was anything you could tell me about it."

Pythagoras raised an eyebrow as Hercules softly snorted.

"Well, I'm assuming we don't need to cover the basics. Can you tell me why you need to know about it?"

Jason hesitated. "Sort of. Is there anything wrong with it? Anything that shouldn't be there? It came from a vineyard but all the vines were dead and withered."

Pythagoras raised an eyebrow and gave the flask's contents a tentative sniff. Hercules snatched the flask away and peered inside, seemingly dividing his attention between his wine and the soil. He was all for helping Jason on the boy's various quests but farming dilemmas hardly seemed worthy of his heroic attentions. Before Pythagoras could answer, however, a deeper voice sounded.

"I don't imagine they were dead," Iphicles remarked casually as he stood in the doorway, newly returned from his chore. A small jug of water stood on a little table by the door with a drying cloth next to it and Iphicles immediately poured some of the water over his hands above a bowl, cleansing them of some of the more offensive results that the burial of the rubbish produced.

"Vines sleep in the winter. They look dead for all the world but they're just resting. You'll see: they'll spring to life again next season. Trust me: I know a fair bit about vines." Jason stepped towards him curiously as the large man crossed the room to join them. Hercules narrowed his eyes, handing the flask back to Pythagoras who tipped a little of the soil out into the palm of his hand, inspecting it closely.

"So you don't think they were dead?" Jason asked.

"I would say not though within inspection of course, I couldn't swear to it. I didn't realise you owned any land."

Quickly, Jason shook his head. "It's not mine. It…belongs to the people I work for: they've been having some problems with their crops. Most of their crops died this season. I thought the grapes had too, but now, maybe not." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "At least, not all of them. Some parts of the ground were darker than others. And come to think of it, she did say not all the crops died."

"Who?" Hercules questioned. Honestly, sometimes the way Jason seemed to speak in distracted starts could be quite irritating. But Jason just ignored him, a light shining in his eyes, losing himself in a thought and blocking out the rest of the room. The wrestler tried not to groan: whatever was happening, Jason was getting invested in something again and that never bode well for them. They'd likely be in the thick of something idiotic before they knew it. But then Hercules stopped and frowned. Whatever this thing was, Jason couldn't or rather _wouldn't_ talk about it. He wouldn't involve them. Something tightened in his gut.

This wasn't right – it was not the way things were meant to be. True, Jason got himself into tight spots more times than he cared to think about, but the one consolation Hercules had, throughout all his sleepless nights and deadly encounters was that the three of them would face these challenges together. Jason was not alone. God knows how the boy, as brilliant as he was, would have fared on past adventures if he had not been there to watch his back.

But now that time has passed. Jason had made it very clear that whatever he was up to, he was doing it without them. Hercules only hoped he had the backing of the Palace, though what use the palace guards were Hercules sometimes questioned. If _they_ were the only support Jason could draw on…

Carefully, Jason took the sample back from Pythagoras. "So what do you think?" he asked.

Pythagoras gave another sniff of the soil in his hand and, very tentatively, touched a tip of his finger to the tip of his tongue, making Hercules grimace. The young blonde looked up to his friend, a question hanging in his explanation. "I think it is some form of poison."

"And you're _tasting_ it?" Hercules exclaimed, incredulously a scowl darkening his features. "Some genius you are!" Honestly, if it wasn't Jason throwing himself headlong into danger then it was Pythagoras willingly tasting poison out of scientific curiosity. There were days when the wrestler just felt like finding a very tall tower, without windows or doors were he could lock those two boys up to prevent any more stupid recklessness on their parts. He'd furnish it comfortably, of course. Of course, getting them in without doors might be a problem but there had to be a way. But sadly, that particular course of action was not open to him.

"Poisonous to plants," the young man clarified. "It smells like a mixture of perhaps sulphur and sea water. I'm not entirely certain. I imagine it could be used to kill weeds."

Jason nodded thoughtfully. "What about other plants and crops?"

"I suppose the principles are the same, given the right quantities."

Turning to Iphicles, Jason fixed him with a curious look. "Do you think someone could use this by mistake?"

Iphicles frowned and shook his head. "The components are common enough though not usually combined together. But no farmer would put them on good crops. Unless he was a fool or else a novice under very poor advice." Iphicles looked at him appraisingly. "If anyone has advised your employers to take such action, they should be reported to the authorities."

For a moment, Jason didn't respond. He seemed lost in thought, staring at the flask. But after a while, he glanced up, feeling the eyes of his friends on him. "Oh, yes. I mean no. I don't think anyone did. I was just curious about it. Thank you." And with that, Jason replaced the small container in his leather satchel and re-joined his friends, determined to put these matters out of his head for the time being and simply enjoy his two remaining days in good company.

* * *

Through the casement of the Queen's private drawing room, the sky hung heavy and dark: the wind had recently begun to die down but the temperature had rapidly plunged. In the distance, the mountains framed the skyline and while icy rain threatened the city, snow-laden clouds loomed above the mountain tops.

Neither form of precipitation was welcome but as Pasiphae looked up from her household accounts and over towards the swirling mists of the mountains, she felt an involuntary shiver run through her and glanced over to where her small fire crackled and popped in the room's hearth. Her thoughts tugged away from the fire's warmth and back towards the colder weather that elevated climates would cause. Was Jason warm enough in his cloak? He should be almost at his father's by this point in the morning as midday approached. If _only_ the boy would travel in his thicker, good-quality clothing that was provided for him here. It really did worry her and not, as perhaps had been the case when Jason first came back to her, simply because he was not attired appropriately for a prince. No, Jason's lack of concern over his status was something she had come to realise would not be changed by pressure from her, but by a gradual change that would or would not occur over time spent in their company. But that would have to stem from Jason himself.

Moreover it was the lack of protection against the elements that worried the queen. Assuming Jason was wearing his travelling cloak (and in this weather, she did not believe that even her obstinate son would travel without it: the boy was not, after all, _trying_ to cause himself harm - it was simply an unfortunate fate that seemed to cling to him like moss to a stone) he remained very much exposed, particularly in a mountainous region. But, she knew, the boy would not relent on the matter. But perhaps a compromise could be reached, she wondered. After all, even travellers of the class of society that Jason walked amongst with his friends were surely better equipped for the winter? Longer trousers, thicker material, a long-sleeved tunic? With a resolved determination, Pasiphae made a mental note to speak to a servant and send them to the market for more _humble_, discrete purchases. She smiled wryly. No doubt such a request, coming from her, would puzzle the servant no end but none were so fool-hardy as to question her motives. With any luck and a little persuasion, Jason would not object to the new garments.

Soft footsteps suddenly sounded from behind her and immediately the itch to find her concealed dagger shot to her fingers. But an assassination attempt in broad daylight and with so many guards around would be highly unlikely. Even so, the movement was suspicious: servants were instructed to come and go without intrusion to the family and their guests but to approach them unawares was equally ill-advised if they wished to keep their positions. Silently, Pasiphae rebuked herself for sitting with her back to the door. Though in this instance she did not sense danger, it was still an amateur mistake to make and one which caused a high turn-over of less hardened, suspicious leaders.

"That looks interesting."

The voice instantly caused Pasiphae to both relax and to smile. She turned in her seat to see her son smiling down, perhaps a little shyly. His complexion was still slightly ruddy and disarrayed indicating that he had recently returned to the Palace.

"Jason," she exclaimed in surprise. "I did not expect to see you today. You were planning on seeing your father when you left us last." Still smiling softly, Pasiphae extended her hand to her son who slipped his own into her waiting hold and allowed his mother to draw him down to the seat next to her. As soon as he was next to her, Pasiphae ran a warm hand down the side of his face, rubbing her thumb gently on his cheek. She leaned in to kiss him lightly on the forehead. It was _her_ warmth, rather than that of the fire, that flooded through Jason and caused him to forget about the seeping cold that had tried to hollow out his bones and turn his lungs inside out on the journey over.

"Tell me," she continued. "What has changed?" For a moment, a look of worry showed in her eyes. "Are you alright?" She cast an appraising look over her son: though his flesh felt a touch of chill and though he could still afford to gain a little weight, the lad did not appear ill. But her fears were soon alleviated.

"I'm fine," Jason assured her, her hand still loosely held in his own as it rested on his knee. "I just have some things I want to finish here…some errands I need to run and I'd like to get them done before the Haloea."

Pasiphae nodded her understanding. "Ah yes: I take it this is about the court case you are working on? With this woman's farm?" She could not understand why this was so pertinent to her son but then Jason often found causes to rally behind in the most unlikely of places. Jason nodded. "I trust you are heeding your stepfather's instructions?" She was fairly certain that he _was_: when Jason gave his word on a matter, it took a great deal to break it. But she still felt it prudent to check. The impulsiveness of youth could have a way of circumventing the best of intentions after all.

All the same, Jason nodded once again. "Of course," he insisted. "I'm not trying to favour her – just work out the facts." His mother narrowed her eyes.

"I am not certain, Jason, that the king has _asked_ you to investigate the facts," she began carefully. "My understanding was that you were to explain the proceedings of the court to this woman and advise her on her rights." She eyed the young man thoughtfully, noting the way he shifted slightly – a sign of a guilty conscious if ever there was one.

"Jason," she warned, though she could not make herself frown with quite the severity that she strictly should have. But Jason looked to her with wide, honest eyes and Pasiphae realised that despite her best intentions, she was losing what little austerity she had summoned in the first place.

"I promise I'm staying within my bounds," he insisted, earnestly. "I would never break my word." Relenting slightly, the Queen smiled and patted his hand.

"I know," she admitted. "But be careful – I know how trouble seems to follow you like your shadow."

"Good job the sun's gone in then," Jason teased, grinning with that sudden wide, impish grin that had a way of disarming her every time.

"Jason, if there is anyone in Atlantis who does not need to tempt the fate of the Gods, it is _you_." She watched her son laugh softly in agreement and shook her head fondly. "Very well then. We shall leave this matter alone and hope it does not present itself again under less favourable circumstances. Now," she announced. "Not that it is not a pleasure to see you but is there a reason you have sought me out today?" She watched something ever so discrete pass over the young man's face, quickly filtering through his features, leaving only a hint of mixed emotions in his eyes: hesitancy; bashfulness; love. For a moment, Jason's hazel eyes met hers and then immediately glanced away.

The queen narrowed her eyes. "What is wrong, my love?"

"Nothing," he hastily reassured her. Then, in a stronger tone of voice, he repeated: "Nothing. I passed Ariadne on the way here and she told me that everyone is gathering in the North Tower for preliminary sketching." Pasiphae nodded and absently began gathering up her papers. Time had got away from her as she had been sitting by the window. Absently, she felt herself flush at her poor time-keeping. She was not used to keeping people waiting – not unless her delay had been intended to unnerve an opponent.

"I know," she assured her son, with a pat to his hand. "I have let myself become too absorbed with this mundane chore." She held up her accounts with a rueful smile. "Thank you for coming to remind me: I shall make my way there now." Pasiphae paused and gave her son a conspiratorial look: "My absence shall not be missed for at least an hour. Minos spends a good deal of time ensuring that before any other matter is seen to, he is positioned according to his best aspect."

She smiled as Jason softly laughed. As she rose, Jason rose with her. He quietly slipped her hand into his and she looked up to him in surprise. His nervousness was back: the restless energy tingled through their touch and, despite the fact that _he_ had initiated contact with _her_, she briefly wondered if there was still something about her that repulsed her son? That made him fear for his life every time he angered her? Or indeed, every time she woke up in the morning with an inclination to cruelty?

She dearly hoped not. The sharp pang that hit her square in the chest at the thought was almost debilitating. Her drift into bitterness and lust for power had been slowly coming but deeply set. Aeson had blamed her blood-line, of course; her 'fall' somehow inevitable. There was never to be any saving of her. She must simply fall and take with it what she could. With a twisted logic, Pasiphae supposed she should feel some measure of comfort in that: her ex-husband had not truly believed that she might have helped herself – that her wickedness was merely her lot in life. Her Fate. Not her _fault_. Not deliberate – just inescapable. Even _then_ in what could have been described as his weakness, Aeson couldn't bring himself to _blame_ her. But nor to save her. Their son, he would move the stars in the sky for – uproot them from their celestial hold if he felt it would keep the boy on the path to righteousness. At least he knew _Jason_ was not lost from the start.

No, it would take a great deal to prick a hole through her heart of stone. But by the gods, Jason had done it and whatever else may still lie shrivelled and twisted in her heart, her son was not among them. Perhaps, the queen sadly admitted to herself, she was not yet the soft and gentle-hearted mother that her son no doubt longed to have. But surely the boy did not still equate her strictness for a lack of love? Her discipline for cruelty? Surely any mother was meant to have _some measure_ of these qualities without making their children resentful and wary of them? Even her. Even a monster such as her. They could still love their children, could they not?

Bringing her mind back to the present, shaking off the shroud of sadness from her heart, Pasiphae looked again to where the boy still alternated his darting eyes around the room, his cheeks tinged red. She summoned a warm smile and squeezed his fingers. "Do not worry," she assured him. "I am not expecting you to join us. I...understand your feelings. Perhaps not yet the reasons _for_ them, I admit. But I see what it means to you and I would not see you hurting for such a trivial thing. The king understands but if he _were_ to bring the matter up again, do concern yourself: I shall take your part."

Jason swallowed. "Thanks, Mum," he mumbled quietly, eyes downcast. Had he been looking up, he would have seen the flicker of surprise that fleeted across his mother's face as she recalled the usage of that name – something Jason had told her about some time ago now. However, the warmth in her eyes was unmistakable when the young man _did_ glance her way. Silently, she smiled reassuringly, willing her eyes not to well up – not out of a fear of showing weakness but more because she could sense the nervous awkwardness emanating from her son and knew the last thing he would want would be for her to draw attention to it. Pasiphae only prayed that the boy could see her gratitude in her expression, could feel her love in the warmth of her touch.

The young man swallowed again but as he looked into his mother's gentle expression, her eyes bright with emotion, he gave a bashful smile and inclined his head towards the door. "I thought I could accompany you to the sitting," he admitted. He paused a moment: "Since we're going to the same place."

This time, it was Pasiphae who swallowed tightly and ran a gentle hand down the side of her son's face. "Thank you, Jason. I would be delighted."

* * *

That's it for now. I hope you enjoyed it.


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